The prose tales of Alexander Poushkin

P®USHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

'®USH

G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.

LONDON: PORTUGAL ST., KINGSWAY
CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL AND CO.
NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
BOMBAY : A. H. WHEELER AND CO.

^

THE PROSE TALES

or

LEXANDER POUSHKIN

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN
BY

T. KEANE

LONDON

G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.

1916

PRESERVATION
COPY ADDED
ORIGINAL TO BE
RETAINED

m 2 ^ ^99V,

First published, April 1894
Reprinted in Bohn's Standard Library,
1896, 1911, 1916

?6 6» 2^3

CONTENTS.

• PAGE

The Captain's Daughter i

DouBROvsKY 153

The Queen of Spades 257

u'^An Amateur Peasant Girl 297

The Shot 325

The Snowstorm . ^. 345

The Post Master ..- 363

The Coffin-maker 381

Kirdjali 393

The Egyptian Nights 403

Peter the Great's Negro 419

985675

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER,

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER.

CHAPTER I.

THE SERGEANT OF THE GUARDS. , . v .

■> t m'' * ■>
- ' •* 1 ' • •

MY father, Andrei Petrovitch Grineff, after having
served in his youth under Count Miinich/ quitted
the service, in the year 17 — , with the rank of senior major.
He settled down upon his estate in the district of Simbirsk,

where he married Avdotia Vassilevna U , the daughter

of a poor nobleman of the neighbourhood. Nine children
were the result of this marriage. All my brothers and
sisters died in their infancy. I was enrolled as a sergeant
in the Semenovsky Regiment, through the influence of

Prince B , a major in the Guards, and a near relation

of our family. I was considered as being on leave of
absence until the completion of my course of studies. In
those days our system of education was very different from
that in vogue at the present time. At five years of age I
was given into the hands of our gamekeeper, Savelitch,
whose sober conduct had rendered him worthy of being
selected to take charge of me. Under his instruction, at
the age of twelve I could read and write Russian, and I was
by no means a bad judge of the qualities of a greyhound.
About that time my father engaged a Frenchman, a Monsieur

' A celebrated German general who entered the service of Russia
during the reign of Peter the Great.

B

4 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Beauprd, who had been imported from Moscow, together
with the yearly stock of wine and Provence oil. Savelitch
was not by any means pleased at his arrival.

" Heaven be thanked ! " he muttered to himself; ** the
child is washed, combed, and well-fed. What need is there
for spending money and engaging a Mossoo, as if there
were not enough of our own people ! "

Beaupr^ had been a hairdresser in his own country, then
a .soldier in Prussia, then he had come to Russia pour etre
ouichitel^ without very well understanding the meaning of
the .wor^. He was a good sort of fellow, but extremely
ffighty and thoughtless. His chief weakness was a passion
for the fair sex ; but his tenderness not unfrequently met
with rebuffs, which would cause him to sigh and lament for
the whole twenty-four hours. Moreover, to use his own
expression, he was no enemy of the bottle, or, in other
words, he loved to drink more than was good for him. But
as, with us, wine was only served out at dinner, and then in
small glasses only, and as, moreover, the teacher was gene-
rally passed over on these occasions, my Beaupr^ very soon
became accustomed to Russian drinks, and even began to
prefer them to the wines of his own country, as being more
beneficial for the stomach. We soon became very good
friends, and although, by the terms of the contract, he was
engaged to teach me French, German, and all the sciences,
yet he much preferred learning from me to chatter in
Russian, and then each of us occupied himself with what
seemed best to him. Our friendship was of the most inti-
mate character, and I wished for no other mentor. But
fate soon separated us, owing to an event which I will now
proceed to relate.

The laundress, Palashka, a thick-set woman with a face

^ Outchitel. A tutor.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 5

scarred by the small-pox, and the one-eyed cowkeeper,
Akoulka, made up their minds together one day and went
and threw themselves at my mother's feet, accusing them-
selves of certain guilty weaknesses, complaining, with a flood
of tears, that the Mossoo had taken advantage of their inex-
perience, and had effected their ruin. My mother did not
look upon such matters in the light of a joke, so she con-
sulted my father upon the subject. • An inquiry into the
matter was promptly resolved upon. He immediately sent
for the rascally Frenchman. He was informed that Monsieur
was engaged in giving me my lesson. My father came to
my room. At that particular moment Beaupr^ was lying on
the bed, sleeping the sleep of innocence. I was occupied
in a very different manner. I ought to mention that a map
had been obtained from Moscow, in order that I might be
instructed in geography. It hung upon the wall without ever
being made use of, and as it was a very large map, and the
paper thick and of good quality, I had long been tempted to
appropriate it to my own use. I resolved to make it into a
kite, and, taking advantage of Beaupre's slumber, I set to
work. My father entered the room just at the moment when
I was adjusting a tail to the Cape of Good Hope. Seeing
me so occupied with geography, my father saluted me with
a box on the ear, then stepped towards Beaupr^, and waking
him very unceremoniously, overwhelmed him with re-
proaches. In his confusion, Beaupr^ wanted to rise up
from the bed, but he was unable to do so : the unfortunate
Frenchman was hopelessly intoxicated. There was only one
course to take after so many acts of misdemeanour. My
father seized hold of him by the collar, lifted him off the bed,
hustled him out of the room, and dismissed him that very
same day from his service — to the unspeakable delight of
Savelitch. Thus ended my education.

I now lived the life of a spoiled child, frightening the

6 , poushkin's prose tales.

pigeons, and playing at leap-frog with the boys on the
estate. I continued to lead this kind of life until I was
sixteen years of age. Then came the turning-point in my
existence.

One day in autumn, my mother was boiling some honey
preserves in the parlour, and I was looking on and licking
my lips as the liquid simmered and frothed. My father
was sitting near the window, reading the " Court Calendar,"
which he received every year. This book always had a
great effect upon him ; he used to read it with especial
interest, and the reading of it always stirred his bile in the
most astonishing manner. My mother, who was perfectly
well acquainted with his whims and peculiarities, always
endeavoured to keep this unfortunate book out of the way
as much as she possibly could, and, on this account, his
eyes would not catch a glimpse of the volume for months
together. But when he did happen to find it, he would sit
with it in his hands for hours at a stretch. ... As I have
said, my father was reading the " Court Calendar," every
now and then shrugging his shoulders, and muttering to
himself: "Lieutenant-General! . . . He used to be a sergeant
in my company ! . . . Knight of both Russian Orders ! . . .

How long is it since we "

At last my father flung the "Calendar" down upon the
sofa, and sank into a reverie — a proceeding that was always
of evil augury.

Suddenly he turned to my mother :
*'Avdotia Vassilevna,^ how old is Petrousha?"^
" He is getting on for seventeen," replied my mother.
" Petrousha was born in the same year that aunt Nastasia

Gerasimovna ^ lost her eye, and "

"Very well," said my father, interrupting her; "it is time

' Avdotia, daughter of Basil. ^ Diminutive of Peter.

^ Anastasia, daughter of Gerasim.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 7

that he entered the service. He has had quite enough of
running about the servants' rooms and climbing up to the
dovecots."

The thought of soon having to part with me produced
such an effect upon my mother, that she let the spoon fall
into the saucepan, and the tears streamed down her cheeks.
As for myself, it would be difficult to describe the delight
that I felt. The thought of the service was associated in
my mind with thoughts of freedom and the pleasures of a
life in St. Petersburg. I imagined myself an officer in the
Guards, that being, in my opinion, the summit of human
felicity.

My father loved neither to change his intentions, nor to
delay putting them into execution. The day for my de-
parture was fixed. On the evening before, my father in-
formed me that he intended to write to my future chief, and
asked for pens and paper.

"Do not forget, Andrei Petrovitch," ^ said my mother,

" to send my salutations to Prince B , and say that I

hope he will take our Petrousha under his protection.''

"What nonsense!" exclaimed my father, frowning.
"Why should I write to Prince B ?"

"Why, you said just now that you wanted to write to
Petrousha's chief."

" Well, and what then?"

"Why, Prince B is Petrousha's chief. You know

Petrousha is enrolled in the Semenovsky Regiment."

" Enrolled ! What care I whether he is enrolled or not ?
Petrousha is not going to St. Petersburg. What would he
learn by serving in St. Petersburg ? To squander money
and indulge in habits of dissipation. No, let him enter a

^ The Russians usually address each other by their Christian name
and that of their father. Thus Andrei Petrovitch means simply Andrew,
son of Peter.

8 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

regiment of the Line ; let him learn to carry knapsack and
belt, to smell powder, to become a soldier, and not an idler
in the Guards. Where is his passport ? Bring it here."

My mother went to get my passport, which she preserved
in a small box along with the shirt in which I was christened,
and delivered it to my father with a trembHng hand. My
father read it through very attentively, placed it in front of
him upon the table, and commenced to write his letter.

I was tortured with curiosity. Where was I to be sent to,
if I was not going to St. Petersburg? I kept my eyes
steadfastly fixed upon the pen, which moved slowly over
the paper. At last he finished the letter, enclosed it in a
cover along with my passport, took off" his spectacles, and,
calling me to him, said :

" Here is a letter for Andrei Karlovitch R , my old

comrade and friend. You are going to Orenburg to serve
under his command."

All my brilliant hopes were thus brought to the ground !
Instead of a life of gaiety in St. Petersburg, there awaited
me a tedious existence in a dreary and distant country.
The service, which I had thought of with such rapture but
a moment before, now presented itself to my eyes in the
light of a great misfortune. But there was no help for it,
and arguing the matter would have been of no avail.

Early the next morning a travelling carriage drew up
before the door ; my portmanteau was placed in it, as well
as a small chest containing a tea-service and a tied-up cloth
full of rolls and pies — the last tokens of home indulgence.
My parents gave me their blessing. My father said to
me :

" Good-bye, Peter ! Serve faithfully whom you have
sworn to serve; obey your superior officers; do not run
after their favours ; be not too eager in volunteering for
service, but never shirk a duty when you are selected for

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 9

it ; and remember the proverb : * Take care of your coat
while it is new, and of your honour while it is young.' "

My mother, with tears in her eyes, enjoined me to take
care of my health, at the same time impressing upon
Savelitch to look well after the child. A cloak made of
hare-skin was then put over my shoulders, and over that
another made of fox-skin. I seated myself in the carriage
with Savelitch, and started off on my journey, weeping
bitterly.

That same night I arrived at Simbirsk, where I was
compelled to remain for the space of twenty-four hours, to
enable Savelitch to purchase several necessary articles which
he had been commissioned to procure. I stopped at an inn.
In the morning Savelitch sallied out to the shops. Tired
of looking out of the window into a dirty alley, I began to
wander about the rooms of the inn. As I entered the
billiard-room, my eyes caught sight of a tall gentleman of
about thirty-five years of age, with long, black moustaches ;
he was dressed in a morning-gown, and had a cue in his
hand and a pipe between liis teeth. He was playing with
the marker, who drank a glass of brandy when he scored, but
crept on all-fours beneath the table when he failed. I
stopped to look at the game. The longer it continued,
the more frequent became the crawling on all-fours, until
at last the marker crept beneath the table and remained
there.

The gentleman uttered a few strong expressions over him,
as a sort of funeral oration, and then invited me to play a
game with him. I declined, on the score that I did not
know how to play. This evidently seemed very strange to
him, and he looked at me with an air of commiseration.
However, we soon fell into conversation. I learned that
his name was Ivan Ivanovitch Zourin ; that he was a captain
in a Hussar regiment ; that he was then stopping in Simbirsk,

10 poushkin's prose tales.

waiting to receive some recruits, and that he was staying at
the same inn as myself.

Zourin invited me to dine with him, in military fashion,
upon whatever Heaven should be pleased to set before us.
I accepted his invitation with pleasure. We sat down to
table. Zourin drank a great deal, and pressed me to do the
same, saying that it was necessary for me to get accustomed
to the ways of the service. He related to me several
military anecdotes, which convulsed me with laughter, and
when we rose from the table we had become intimate friends
Then he offered to teach me how to play at billiards.

" It is an indispensable game for soldiers Hke us," said
he. ''When on the march, for instance, you arrive at some
insignificant village, what can you do to occupy the time?
You cannot always be thrashing the Jews. You involuntarily
make your way to the inn to play at billiards, and to do
that, you must know how to play."

I was completely convinced, and I commenced to learn
the game with great assiduity. Zourin encouraged me with
loud-voiced praise, being astonfehed at my rapid progress ;
and after a few lessons he proposed that we should play for
money, for the smallest sums possible, not for the sake of
gain, but merely for the sake of not playing for nothing, which,
according to his opinion, was an exceedingly bad habit.

I agreed to his proposal, and Zourin ordered a supply of
punch, which he persuaded me to partake of, saying that it
was necessary to become accustomed to it in the service ;
for what would the service be without punch ! I followed
his advice. In the meantime we continued our game.
The more frequently I had recourse to the punch, the more
emboldened I became. The balls kept continually flying in
the wrong direction ; I grew angry, abused the marker — who
counted the points, Heaven only knows how, — increased the
stakes from time to time — in a word, I behaved like a boy just

II

out of leading-strings. In the meanwhile the time had passed
away without my having observed it. Zourin glanced at the
clock, laid down his cue, and informed me that I had lost
a hundred roubles.^ I was considerably confounded by
this piece of information. My money was in the hands of
Savelitch. I began to make some excuses. Zourin inter-
rupted me :

" Pray, do not be uneasy. I can wait ; and now let us go
to Arinoushka."^

• What more shall I add ? I finished the day as foolishly
as I had commenced it. We took supper with Arinoushka.
Zourin kept continually filling my glass, observing as he did
so, that it was necessary to become accustomed to it in the
service. When I rose from the table, I was scarcely able to
stand on my legs ; at midnight, Zourin conducted me back
to the inn.

Savelitch came to the doorstep to meet us. He uttered a
groan on perceiving the indubitable signs of my zeal for the
service.

"What has happened to you?" he said, in a voice of
lamentation. " Where have you been drinking so ? Oh,
Lord ! never did such a misfortune happen before ! "

" Hold your tongue, you old greybeard ! " I replied, in an
unsteady voice ; " you are certainly drunk. Go to sleep . . .
and put me to bed."

The next morning I awoke with a violent headache, and
with a confused recollection of the events of the day before.
My reflections were interrupted by Savelitch, who brought
me a cup of tea.

" You are beginning your games early, Peter Andreitch," ^
he said, shaking his head. "And whom do you take after?

^ The rouble, at that time, was worth about three shillings and four-
pence.

^ Diminutive of Arina. * Peter, son of Andrew.

12 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

As far as I know, neither your father nor grandfather were
ever drunkards ; as for your mother, I will say nothing ; she
has never drunk anything except kvas ^ since the day she was
born. And who is to blame for all this? Why, that cursed
Mossoo, who was ever running to Antipevna with : * Madame^
je vous prie^ vodka.' ^ You see what a pretty pass your Je
vous prie has brought you to ! There's no denying that the
son of a dog taught you some nice things ! It was worth
while to hire such a heathen for your tutor, as if our master
had not enough of his own people ! "

I felt ashamed of myself. I turned my back to him, and
said :

"Go away, Savelitch ; I do not want any tea."

But it was a difficult matter to quiet Savelitch when he
had set his mind upon preaching a sermon.

"You see now, Peter Andreitch, what it is to get drunk.
You have a headache, and you do not want to eat or drink
anything. A man who gets drunk is good for nothing.
Have some cucumber pickle with honey ; or perhaps half a
glass of fruit wine would be better still. What do you say ? "

At that moment a boy entered the room and handed me
a note from Zourin. I opened it and read the following
lines :

"Dear Peter Andreivitch,

"Be so good as to send me, by my boy, the
hundred roubles which you lost to me yesterday. I am in
great need of money.

" Yours faithfully,

" Ivan Zourin."

There was no help for it. I assumed an air of in-

^ A sour but refreshing drink made from rye-meal and malt.
* Brandy.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 13

difference, and turning to Savelitch, who was my treasurer
and caretaker in one, I ordered him to give the boy a
hundred roubles.

" What ? why ? " asked the astonished SaveUtch.

" I owe them to him," I repHed, with the greatest possible
coolness.

"Owe!" ejaculated Savelitch, becoming more and more
astonished. " When did you get into his debt ? It looks a
very suspicious piece of business. You may do as you like,
my lord, but I shall not give the money."

I thought that, if in this decisive moment I did not gain
the upper hand of the obstinate old man, it would be difficult
for me to liberate myself from his tutelage later on ; so, look-
ing haughtily at him, I said :

" I am your master, and you are my servant. The money
is m.ine. I played and lost it because I chose to do so ;
and I advise you not to oppose my wishes, but to do what
you are ordered."

Savelitch was so astounded at my words, that he clasped
his hands and stood as if petrified.

*' What are you standing there like that for ? " I exclaimed
angrily.

Savelitch began to weep.

" Father, Peter Andreitch," he stammered in a quivering
voice , '* do not break my heart with grief You are the
light of my life, so Hsten to me— to an old man: write to
this robber, and tell him that you were only joking, that we
have not got so much money. A hundred roubles ! Merci-
ful Heaven ! Tell him that your parents have strictly for-
bidden you to play for anything except nuts "

" That will do ; let me have no more of your chatter !
Give me the money, or I will put you out by the neck ! "

Savelitch looked at me with deep sadness, and went for
the money. I pitied the poor old man ; but I wanted to

14 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

assert my independence and to show that I was no longer a
child.

The money was paid to Zourin. SaveHtch hastened to
get me away from the accursed inn. He made his ap-
pearance with the information that the horses were ready.
With an uneasy conscience, and a silent feeling of remorse, I
left Simbirsk without taking leave of my teacher of billiards,
and without thinking that I should ever see him again.

^5

CPIAPTER II.

THE GUIDE.

MY reflections during the journey were not very agree-
able. My loss, according to the value of money at
that time, was of no little importance. I could not but
confess, within my own mind, that my behaviour at the
Simbirsk inn was very stupid, and I felt guilty in the pre-
sence of Savelitch. All this tormented me. The old man
sat in gloomy silence upon the seat of the vehicle, with his
face averted from me, and every now and then giving vent
to a sigh. I wanted at all hazards to become reconciled to
him, but I did not know how to begin. At last I said to
him :

" Come, come, Savelitch, that will do, let us be friends.
I was to blame ; I see myself that I was in the wrong. I
acted very foolishly yesterday, and I offended you without
cause. I promise that I will act more wisely for the future,
and Hsten to your advice. Come, don't be angry, but let
us be friends again."

"Ah! father, Peter Andreitch," he replied, with a deep
sigh, " I am angry with myself; I alone am to blame. How
could I leave you alone in the inn ! But what else could be
expected ? We are led astray by sin. The thought came
into my mind to go and see the clerk's wife, who is my
gossip.^ But so it was : I went to my gossip, and ill-luck

* Savelitch uses the word here in its old meaning of fellow-sponsor.

l6 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

came of it. Was there ever such a misfortune ! How shall
I ever be able to look in the face of my master and
mistress ? What will they say when they know that their
child is a drunkard and a gambler ? "

In order to console poor SaveHtch, I gave him my word
that I would never again spend a single copeck^ with-
out his consent. He calmed down by degrees, although
every now and again he still continued muttering, with a
shake of the head, "A hundred roubles ! It's no laughing
matter ! "

I was nearing the place of my destination. On every
side of me extended a dreary-looking plain, intersected by
hills and ravines. Everything was covered with snow. The
sun was setting. The kibitka ^ was proceeding along the
narrow road, or, to speak more precisely, along the track
made by the peasants' sledges Suddenly the driver began
gazing intently about him, and at last, taking off his cap, he
turned to me and said :

*' My lord, will you not give orders to turn back ? "

"Why?"

" The weather does not look very promising : the wind
is beginning to rise ; see how it whirls the freshly fallen
snow along."

*' What does that matter ? "

" And do you see that yonder?"

And the driver pointed with his whip towards the east.

" I see nothing, except the white steppe and the clear
sky."

" There — away in the distance : that cloud."

I perceived, indeed, on the edge of the horizon, a white
cloud, which I had taken at first for a distant hill. The
driver explained to me that this small cloud presaged a
snowstorm.

* A tenth of a penny. • A kind of rough travelling cart.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. \J

I had heard of the snowstorms of that part of the
country, and I knew that whole trains of waggons were
frequently buried in the drifts. Savelitch was of the same
opinion as the driver, and advised that we should return.
But the wind did not seem to me to be very strong : I
hoped to be able to reach the next station in good time,
and I gave orders to drive on faster.

The driver urged on the horses at a gallop, but he still
continued to gaze towards the east. The horses entered
into their work with a will. In the meantime the wind had
gradually increased in violence. The little cloud had
changed into a large, white, nebulous mass, which rose
heavily, and gradually began to extend over the whole sky.
A fine snow began to fall, and then all at once this gave
place to large heavy flakes. The wind roared ; the snow-
storm had burst upon us. In one moment the dark sky
became confounded with the sea of snow ; everything had
disappeared.

"Well, my lord," cried the driver, **this is a misfortune;
it is a regular snowstorm ! "

I looked out of the kibitka ; all was storm and darkness.
The wind blew with such terrific violence that it seemed
as if it were endowed with life. Savelitch and I were
covered with snow : the horses ploughed their way onward
at a walking pace, and soon came to a standstill.

" Why don't you go on ? " I called out impatiently to the
driver.

" But where am I to drive to ? " he replied, jumping
down from his seat ; *' I haven^t the slightest idea as to
where we are ; there is no road, and it is dark all round."

I began to scold him. Savelitch took his part.

'* You ought to have taken his advice," he said angrily.
" You should have returned to the posting-house ; you
could have had some tea and could have slept there till the

1 8 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

morning ; the storm would have blown over by that time,
and then you could have proceeded on your journey. And
why such haste ? It would be all very well if we were going
to a wedding ! "

Savelitch was right. But what was to be done? The
snow still continued to fall. A drift began to form around
the kibitka. The horses stood with dejected heads, and
every now and then a shudder shook their frames. The
driver kept walking round them, and, being unable to do
anything else, busied himself with adjusting the harness.
Savehtch grumbled. I looked round on every side, hoping
to discover some sign of a house or a road, but I could
distinguish nothing except the confused whirling snow-
drifts. ... Suddenly I caught sight of something black.

*'Hillo! driver," I cried; ''look! what is that black
object yonder?"

The driver looked carefully in the direction indicated.

" God knows, my lord," said he, seating himself in his
place again ; " it is neither a sledge nor a tree, and it seems
to move. It must be either a man or a wolf."

I ordered him to drive towards the unknown object,
which was gradually drawing nearer to us. In about two
minutes we came up to it and discovered it to be a man.

^* Hi ! my good man," cried the driver to him ; " say, do
you know where the road is ? "

"The road is here; I am standing on a firm track,"
replied the wayfarer. " But what of it ? "

" Listen, peasant," said I to him ; " do you know this
country ? Can you lead me to a place where I can obtain a
night's lodging?"

" I know the country very well," replied the peasant.
" Heaven be thanked, I have crossed it and re-crossed it
in every direction. But you see what sort of weather it is :
it would be very easy to miss the road. You had much

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. I9

better stay here and wait ; perhaps the storm will blow over,
and the sky- become clear, then we shall be able to find the
road by the help of the stars."

His cool indifference encouraged me. I had already
resolved to abandon myself to the will of God and to pass
the night upon the steppe, when suddenly the peasant
mounted to the seat of our vehicle and said to the driver :

" Thank Heaven, there is a house not far off; turn to the
right and go straight on."

" Why should I go to the right ? " asked the driver in a
dissatisfied tone. "Where do you see a road? I am not
the owner of these horses that I should use the whip
without mercy."

The driver seemed to me to be in the right.

" In truth," said I, " why do you think that there is a
house not far off? "

" Because the wind blows from that direction," replied
the wayfarer, " and I can smell smoke ; that is a sign that
there is a village close at hand."

His sagacity and nicety of smell astonished me. I
ordered the driver to go on. The horses moved heavily
through the deep snow. The kibitka advanced very slowly,
at one moment mounting to the summit of a ridge, at
another sinking into a deep hollow, now rolling to one side,
and now to the other. It was very much like being in a
ship on a stormy sea. SaveHtch sighed and groaned, and
continually jostled against me. I let down the cover of the
kibitka^ wrapped myself up in my cloak, and fell into a
slumber, lulled by the music of the storm, and rocked by
the motion of the vehicle.

I had a dream which I shall never forget, and in which
I still see something prophetic when I compare it with
the strange events of my life. The reader will excuse me
for mentioning the matter, for probably he knows from

c

20 poushkin's prose tales.

experience that man is naturally given to superstition in
spite of the great contempt entertained for it.

I was in that condition of mind when reality and imagina-
tion become confused in the vague sensations attending the
first stage of drowsiness. It seemed to me that the storm
still continued, and that we were still wandering about the
wilderness of snow. ... All at once I caught sight of a gate,
and we entered the courtyard of our mansion. My first
thought was a fear that my father would be angry with me
for my involuntary return to the paternal roof, and would
regard it as an act of intentional disobedience. With a
feeling of uneasiness I sprang out of the kibitkay and saw
my mother coming down the steps to meet me, with a look
of deep affliction upon her face.

" Hush ! " she said to me ; " your father is on the point
of death, and wishes to take leave of you."

Struck with awe, I followed her into the bedroom. I
looked about me ; the room was dimly lighted, and round
the bed stood several persons with sorrow-stricken counte-
nances. I approached very gently ; my mother raised the
curtain and said :

" Andrei Petrovitch, Petrousha has arrived ; he has re-
turned because he heard of your illness; give him your
blessing."

I knelt down and fixed my eyes upon the face of the sick
man. But what did I see ? . . . Instead of my father, I saw
lying in the bed a black-bearded peasant, who looked at
me with an expression of gaiety upon his countenance.
Greatly perplexed, I turned round to my mother and said
to her :

" What does all this mean ? This is not my father. Why
should I ask this peasant for his blessing ? "

*' It is all the same, Petrousha," replied my mother ; " he
is your stepfather ; kiss his hand and let him bless you."

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 21

I would not consent to it. Then the peasant sprang out
of bed, grasped the axe which hung at his back,i j^j^^j com-
menced flourishing it about on every side. I wanted to
run away, but I could not; the room began to get filled
with dead bodies ; I kfept stumbling against them, and my
feet continually slipped in pools of blood. The dreadful
peasant called out to me in a gentle voice, saying :

*' Do not be afraid ; come and receive my blessing."

Terror and doubt took possession of me. ... At that
moment I awoke; the horses had come to a standstill.
Savelitch took hold of my hand, saying :

*' Get out, my lord, we have arrived."

" Where are we ? " I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"At a place of refuge. God came to our help and con-
ducted us straight to the fence of the house. Get out as
quickly as you can, my lord, and warm yourself."

I stepped out of the kibitka. The storm still raged,
although with less violence than at first. It was as dark as
if we were totally blind. The host met us at the door,
holding a lantern under the skirt of his coat, and conducted
me into a room, small, but tolerably clean. It was lit up by
a pine torch. On the wall hung a long rifle, and a tall
Cossack cap.

The host, a Yaikian Cossack by birth, was a peasant of
about sixty years of age, still hale and strong. Savelitch
brought in the tea-chest, and asked for a fire in order to
prepare some tea, which I seemed to need at that moment
more than at any other time in my life. The host hastened
to attend to the matter.

''Where is the guide?" I said to Savelitch.

*' Here, your Excellency," replied a voice from above.

I glanced up at the loft, and saw a black beard and two
sparkling eyes.

^ The Russian peasant usually carries his axe behind him.

22 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

** Well, friend, are you cold ? "

" How could I be otherwise than cold in only a thin
tunic ! I had a fur coat, but why should I hide my fault ?
— I pawned it yesterday with a brandy-seller ; the cold did
not seem to be so severe."

At that moment the host entered with a smoking tea-urn ;
I offered our guide a cup of tea ; the peasant came down
from the loft. His exterior seemed to me somewhat re-
markable. He was about forty years of age, of middle
height, thin and broad-shouldered. In his black beard
streaks of grey were beginning to make their appearance ;
his large, lively black eyes were incessantly on the roll.
His face had something rather agreeable about it, although
an expression of vindictiveness could also be detected upon
it. His hair was cut close round his head. He was dressed
in a ragged tunic and Tartar trousers. I gave him a cup of
tea ; he tasted it, and made a wry face.

" Your Excellency," said he, " be so good as to order a
glass of wine for me ; tea is not the drink for us Cossacks."

I willingly complied with his request. The landlord
brought a square bottle and a glass from a cupboard, went
up to him, and, looking into his face, said :

*' Oh ! you are again in our neighbourhood ! Where have
you come from? "

My guide winked significantly, and made reply :

" Flying in the garden, pecking hempseed ; the old woman
threw a stone, but it missed its aim. And how is it with
you?"

"How is it with us?" replied the landlord, continuing
the allegorical conversation, " they were beginning to ring
the vespers, but the pope's wife would not allow it : the
pope is on a visit, and the devils are in the glebe."

''Hold your tongue, uncle," replied my rover; "when
there is rain, there will be mushrooms ; and when there are

THE CAPTAIN*S DAUGHTER. 23

mushrooms, there will be a pannier ; but now " (and here
he winked again) *'put your axe behind your back; the
ranger is going about. Your Excellency, I drink to your
health ! "

With these words he took hold of the glass, made the
sign of the cross, and drank off the liquor in one draught ;
then, bowing to me, he returned to the loft.

At that time I could not understand anything of this
thieves' slang, but afterwards I understood that it referred
to the Yaikian army, which had only just then been reduced
to submission after the revolt of 1772. Savelitch listened
with a look of great dissatisfaction. He glanced very sus-
piciously, first at the landlord, then at the guide. The inn,
or uniet^ as it was called in those parts, was situated in the
middle of the steppe, far from every habitation or village,
and had very much the appearance of a rendezvous for
thieves. But there was no help for it. We could not
think of continuing our journey. The uneasiness of Savelitch
afforded me very great amusement. In the meantime I
made all necessary arrangements for passing the night com-
fortably, and then stretched myself upon a bench. Savelitch
resolved to avail himself of the stove ^ ; our host lay down
upon the floor. Soon all in the house were snoring, and I
fell into a sleep as sound as that of the grave.

When I awoke on the following morning, at a somewhat
late hour, I perceived that the storm was over. The sun
was shining. The snow lay like a dazzling shroud over the
boundless steppe. The horses were harnessed. I paid the
reckoning to the host, the sum asked of us being so very
moderate that even Savelitch did not dispute the matter
and commence to haggle about the payment as was his
usual custom; moreover, his suspicions of the previous

^ The usual sleeping place of the Russian peasant.

24 poushkin's prose tales.

evening had completely vanished from his mind. I called
for our guide, thanked him for the assistance he had ren-
dered us, and ordered Savelitch to give him half a rouble
for brandy.

Savelitch frowned.

"Half a rouble for brandy?" said he; "why so?
Because you were pleased to bring him with you to this
inn ? With your leave, my lord, but we have not too many
half roubles to spare. If we give money for brandy to
everybody we have to deal with, we shall very soon have to
starve ourselves."

I could not argue with Savelitch. According to my own
promise, the disposal of my money was to be left entirely to
his discretion. But I felt rather vexed that I was not able
to show my gratitude to a man who, if he had not rescued
me from certain destruction, had at least delivered me from
a very disagreeable position.

" Well," said I, coldly, " if you will not give him half a
rouble, give him something out of my wardrobe ; he is too
thinly clad. Give him my hare-skin pelisse."

" In the name of Heaven, father, Peter Andreitch ! "
said Savehtch, "why give him your pelisse? The dog will
sell it for drink at the first tavern that he comes to."

" It is no business of yours, old man," said my stroller,
"whether I sell it for drink or not. His Excellency is
pleased to give me a cloak from off his own shoulders ; it is
his lordly will, and it is your duty, as servant, to obey, and
not to dispute."

" Have you no fear of God, you robber ! " said Savelitch,
in an angry tone. " You see that the child has not yet
reached the age of discretion, and yet you are only too glad
to take advantage of his good-nature, and rob him. What
do you want with my master's pelisse? You will not be
able to stretch it across your accursed shoulders."

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 2$

" I beg of you not to show off your wit," I said to my
guardian. " Bring the pelisse hither immediately ! "

'* Gracious Lord 1 " groaned Savelitch, " the pelisse is
almost brand-new ! If it were to anybody deserving of it, it
would be different, but to give it to a ragged drunkard ! "

However, the pelisse was brought. The peasant instantly
commenced to try it on. And, indeed, the garment, which
I had grown out of, and which was rather tight for me, was
a great deal too small for him. But he contrived to get it
on somehow, though not without bursting the seams in the
effort. Savelitch very nearly gave vent to a groan when he
heard the stitches giving way. The stroller was exceedingly
pleased with my present. He conducted me to the kihitka^
and said, with a low bow :

" Many thanks, your Excellency ! May God reward you
for your virtue. I shall never forget your kindness."

He went his way, and I set out again on my journey, with-
out paying any attention to Savelitch, and I soon forgot all
about the storm of the previous day, the guide, and my
pelisse.

On arriving at Orenburg, I immediately presented myself
to the general. He was a tall man, but somewhat bent with
age. His long hair was perfectly white. His old faded
uniform recalled to mind the warrior of the time of the
Empress Anne, and he spoke with a strong German accent.

I gave him the letter from my father. On hearing the
name, he glanced at me quickly.

" Mein Gott ! " said he, " it does not seem so very long
ago since Andrei Petrovitch was your age, and now what a
fine young fellow he has got for a son ! Ac/i ! time, time ! "

He opened the letter and began to read it half aloud,
making his own observations upon it in the course of his
reading.

*' ' Esteemed Sir, Ivan Karlovitch, I hope that your Excel-

26 poushkin's prose tales.

lency ' — Why all this ceremony ? Pshaw ! Isn't he ashamed
of himself? To be sure, discipline before everything, but is
that the way to write to an old comrade ? — ' Your Excellency
has not forgotten ' — Hm ! — ' and — when — with the late
Field Marshal Miin — in the campaign — also Caroline' — Ha,
brother ! he still remembers our old pranks, then ? — ' Now
to business. — I send you my young hopeful ' — Hm 1 — ' Hold
him with hedgehog mittens.' — What are hedgehog mittens ?
That must be a Russian proverb. — What does *hold him
with hedgehog mittens ' mean ? " he repeated, turning to
me.

" It means," I replied, looking as innocent as I possibly
could, " to treat a person kindly, not to be too severe, and
to allow as much liberty as possible."

" Hm ! I understand — ' And do not give him too much
liberty.' — No, it is evident that 'hedgehog mittens' does
not mean that. — ' Enclosed you will find his passport' —
Where is it then ? Ah ! here it is. — ' Enrol him in the
Semenovsky Regiment' — Very well, very well, everything
shall be attended to. — ' Allow me without ceremony to
embrace you as an old comrade and friend.' — Ah ! at
last he has got to it. — ' Etcetera, etcetera.* — Well, my little
father," said he, finishing the reading of the letter, and
putting my passport on one side, " everything shall be

arranged ; you shall be an officer in the Regiment,

and so that you may lose no time, start to-morrow for the
fortress of Bailogorsk, where you will be under the command
of Captain Mironof^, a good and honest man. There you
will learn real service, and be taught what real discipline is.
Orenburg is not the place for you, there is nothing for you to
do there; amusements are injurious to a young man.
Favour me with your company at dinner to-day."

" This is getting worse and worse," I thought to myself.
" Of what use will it be to me to have been a sergeant in the

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 2/

Guards almost from my mother's womb ! Whither has it led

me ? To the Regiment, and to a dreary fortress on the

borders of the Kirghis-Kaisaks steppes ! "

I dined with Andrei Karlovitch, in company with his old
adjutant. A strict German economy ruled his table, and I
believe that the fear of being obliged to entertain an
additional guest now and again was partly the cause of my
being so promptly banished to the garrison.

The next day I took leave of the general, and set out foi
the place of my destination.

28

CHAPTER III.

THE FORTRESS.

THE fortress of Bailogorsk was situated about forty
versts ^ from Orenburg. The road to it led along the
steep bank of the Vaik.^ The river was not yet frozen, and
its leaden-coloured waves had a dark and melancholy
aspect as they rose and fell between the dreary banks
covered with the white snow. Beyond it stretched the
Kirghis steppes. I sank into reflections, most of them of
a gloomy nature. Garrison life had little attraction for me,
I endeavoured to picture to myself Captain Mironoff, my
future chief; and I imagined^ him to be a severe, ill-
tempered old man, knowing nothing except what was con-
nected with his duty, and ready to arrest me and put me on
bread and water for the merest trifle.

In the meantime it began to grow dark, and we quickened
our pace.

" Is it far to the fortress ? " I inquired of our driver.

*' Not far," he replied, " you can see it yonder."

I looked around on every side, expecting to see formid-
able bastions, towers, and ramparts, but I could see nothing
except a small village surrounded by a wooden palisade.
On one side stood three or four hayricks, half covered with

' A verst is two-thirds of an English mile,
• A tributary of the Oaral,

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 29

snow ; on the other a crooked looking windmill, with its
bark sails hanging idly down.

"But where is the fortress?" I asked in astonishment.

" There it is," replied the driver, pointing to the village,
and, as he spoke, we entered into it.

At the gate I saw an old cast-iron gun ; the streets were
narrow and crooked ; the cottages small, and for the most
part covered with thatch. I expressed a wish to be taken
to the Commandant, and, in about a minute, the kibitka
stopped in front of a small wooden house, built on an
eminence, and situated near the church, which was likewise
of wood.

Nobody came out to meet me. I made my way to the
entrance and then proceeded to the ante-room. An old
pensioner, seated at a table, was engaged in sewing a blue
patch on the elbow of a green uniform coat. I ordered
him to announce me.

"Go inside, little father," replied the pensioner; "our
people are at home."

I entered into a very clean room, furnished in the old-
fashioned style. In one corner stood a cupboard contain-
ing earthenware utensils; on the wall hung an officer's
diploma, framed and glazed, and around it were arranged a
few rude wood engravings, representing the " Capture of
Kustrin and Otchakoff," ^ the " Choice of the Bride," and the
" Burial of the Cat." At the window sat .an old woman in a
jerkin, and wearing a handkerchief round her head. She
was unwinding thread which a one-eyed old man, dressed
in an officer's uniform, held in his outstretched hands.

" What is your pleasure, little father ? " she asked, con-
tinuing her occupation.

I replied that I had come to enter the service, and, in

^ Taken from the Turks in 1737 by the Russian troops under Count
Munich.

30 p6ushkin*s prose tales.

accordance with the regulations, to notify my arrival to the
Captain in command. And with these words I turned
towards the one-eyed old man, whom I supposed to be the
Commandant; but the old lady interrupted me in the speech
which I had so carefully prepared beforehand.

" Ivan Kouzmitch ^ is not at home," said she ; " he has
gone to visit Father Gerasim. But it is all the same, I am
his wife."

She summoned a maid-servant and told her to call an
orderly ofificer. The little old man looked at me out of his
one eye with much curiosity.

*'May I ask," said he, "in what regiment you have
deigned to serve ? "

I satisfied his curiosity.

"And may I ask," he continued, "why you have ex-
changed the Guards for this garrison ? "

I replied that such was the wish of the authorities.

" Probably for conduct unbecoming an officer of the
Guards ? " continued the indefatigable interrogator.

" A truce to your foolish chatter," said the Captain's wife
to him ; " you see that the young man is tired after his
journey. He has something else to do than to listen to
your nonsense." Then turning to me she added : " You
are not the first, and you will not be the last. It is a hard
life here, but you will soon get to like it. It is five years
ago since Shvabrin Alexei Ivanitch was sent here to us for
a murder. Heaven knows what it was that caused him to
go wrong. You see, he went out of the town with a lieu-
tenant; they had taken their swords with them, and they
began to thrust at one another, and Alexei Ivanitch stabbed
the lieutenant, and all before two witnesses ! But what
would you ? Man is not master of sin."

* Ivan (John), son of Kouzmft. •

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 3 1

At this moment the orderly officer, a young and well-
built Cossack, entered the room.

'* Maximitch," said the Captain's wife to him, " conduct
this officer to his quarters, and see that everything is
attended to."

'* I obey, Vassilissa Egorovna," replied the orderly. " Is
not his Excellency to lodge with Ivan Polejaeff ? "

" What a booby you are, Maximitch ! " said the Captain's
wife. "Polejaeff's house is crowded already; besides, he is
my gossip, and remembers that we are his superiors. Take
the officer — what is your name, little father ? " ^

" Peter Andreitch."

" Take Peter Andreitch to Simon Kouzoff. The rascal
allowed his horse to get in my kitchen-garden. . . . And is
everything right, Maximitch ? "

" Everything, thank God ! " replied the Cossack ; " only
Corporal Prokhoroff has been having a squabble at the
bath with Ustinia Pegoulina, on account of a can of hot
water."

" Ivan Ignatitch," said the Captain's wife to the one-eyed
old man, " decide between Prokhoroff and Ustinia as to
who is right and who is wrong, and then punish both.
Now, Maximitch, go, and God be with you. Peter
Andreitch, Maximitch will conduct you to your quarters."

I bowed and took my departure. The orderly conducted
me to a hut, situated on the steep bank of the river, at the
extreme end of the fortress. One half of the hut was
occupied by the family of Simon Kouzoff; the other was
given up to me. It consisted of one room, of tolerable
cleanliness, and was divided into two by a partition.

Savelitch began to set the room in order, and I looked
out of the narrow window. Before me stretched a gloomy

^ Little father {batyushka). A familiar idiom peculiar to the Russian

language.

32 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Steppe. On one side stood a few huts, and two or three
fowls were wandering about the street. An old woman,
standing on a doorstep with a trough in her hands, was
calling some pigs, which answered her with friendly grunts.
And this was the place in which I was condemned to spend
my youth ! Grief took possession of me ; I came away
from the window and lay down to sleep without eating any
supper, in spite of the exhortations of Savelitch, who kept
repeating in a tone of distress :

" Lord of heaven ! he will eat nothing ! What will my
mistress say if the child falls ill ? "

The next morning I had scarcely begun to dress when
the door opened, and a young officer, somewhat short in
stature, with a swarthy and rather ill-looking countenance,
though distinguished by extraordinary vivacity, entered the
room.

"Pardon me," he said to me in French, "for coming
without ceremony to make your acquaintance. I heard
yesterday of your arrival, and the desire to see at last a
fresh human face took such possession of me, that I could
not wait any longer. You will understand this when you
have lived here a little while."

I conjectured that this was the officer who had been dis-
missed from the Guards on account of the duel. We soon
became acquainted. Shvabrin was by no means a fool.
His conversation was witty and entertaining. With great
Hveliness he described to me the family of the Comman-
dant, his society, and the place to which fate had conducted
me. I was laughing with all my heart when the old soldier
who had been mending his uniform in the Commandant's
ante-chamber, came to me, and, in the name of Vassilissa
Egorovna, invited me to dinner. Shvabrin declared that he
would go with me.

On approaching the Commandant's house, we perceived

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 33

on the square about twenty old soldiers, with long pig-tails
and three-cornered hats. They were standing to the front.
Before them stood the Commandant, a tall and sprightly
old man, in a nightcap and flannel dressing-gown. Ob-
serving us, he came forward towards us, said a few kind words
to me, and then went on again with the drilling of his men.
We were going to stop to watch the evolutions, but he
requested us to go to Vassilissa Egorovna, promising to
join us in a little while. " Here," he added, " there is
nothing for you to see."

Vassilissa Egorovna received us with unfeigned gladness
and simplicity, and treated me as if she had known me all
my life. The pensioner and Palashka spread the table-
cloth.

" What is detaining my Ivan Kouzmitch so long to-day?"
said the Commandant's wife. " Palashka, go and call your
master to dinner, . . . But where is Masha?"^

At that moment there entered the room a young girl of

"about eighteen years of age, with a round, rosy face, and
light brown hair, brushed smoothly back behind her ears,
which were tinged with a deep blush. She did not produce
a very favourable impression upon me at the first glance. I
regarded her with prejudiced eyes. Shvabrin had described
Masha, the Captain's daughter, as a perfect idiot. Maria
Ivanovna ^ sat down in a corner and began to sew. > Mean-
while, the cabbage-soup was brought in. Vassilissa
Egorovna, not seeing her husband, sent Palashka after him
a second time.

" Tell your master that the guests are waiting, and that
the soup is getting cold. Thank Heaven, the drill will not

: run away ! he will have plenty of time to shout himself
hoarse."

* Diminutive of Maria or Mary.

^ Mary, 'daughter of Ivan {i.e., Masha),

I

34 poushkin's prose tales.

The Captain soon made his appearance, accompanied by
the little one-eyed old man.

" What is the meaning of this, little father ?" said his wife
to him ; " the dinner has been ready a long time, and you
would not come."

" Why, you see, Vassilissa Egorovna," said Ivan Kouz-
mitch, '* I was occupied with my duties ; I was teaching my
little soldiers."

** Nonsense ! " replied his wife ; " it is all talk about your
teaching the soldiers. The service does not suit them, and
you yourself don't understand anything about it. It would
be better for you to stay at home and pray to God. My
dear guests, pray take your places at the table."

We sat down to dine. Vassilissa Egorovna was not
silent for a single moment, and she overwhelmed me with
questions. Who were my parents? Were they living?
Where did they live ? How much were they worth ? On
hearing that my father owned three hundred souls : ^

"Really now!" she exclaimed; *'well, there are some
rich people in the world ! As for us, my little father, we
have only our one servant-girl, Palashka ; but, thank God, we
manage to get along well enough ! There is only one thing
that we are troubled about. Masha is an eligible girl, but
what has she got for a marriage portion ? A clean comb, a
hand-broom, and three copecks — Heaven have pity upon,
her ! — to pay for a bath. If she can find a good man, all
very well ; if not, she will have to be an old maid."

I glanced at Maria Ivanovna ; she was blushing all
over, and tears were even falling into her plate. I began
to feel pity for her, and I hastened to change the conver-
sation.

"I have heard," said I, as appropriately as I could,

* The technical name for serfs.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 35

" that the Bashkirs are assembling to make an attack upon
your fortress."

"And from whom did you hear that, my little father?"
asked Ivan Kouzmitch.

" They told me so in Orenburg," I replied.

*' All nonsense ! " said the Commandant ; " we have heard
nothing about them for a long time. The Bashkirs are a
timid lot, and the Kirghises have learnt a lesson. Don't
be alarmed, they will not attack us; but if they should
venture to do so, we will teach them such a lesson that
they will not make another move for the next ten years."

"And are you not afraid," continued I, turning to the
Captain's wife, " to remain in a fortress exposed to so many
dangers ? " -

" Habit, my little fatHer," she replied. " It is twenty
years ago since they transferred us from the regiment to
this place, and you cannot imagine how these accursed
heathens used to terrify me. If I caught a glimpse of their
hairy caps now and then, or if I heard their yells, will you
believe it, my father, my heart would leap almost into my
mouth. But now I am so accustomed to it that I would
not move out of my place if anyone came to tell me that
the villains were prowling round the fortress."

"Vassilissa Egorovna is a very courageous lady," ob-
served Shvabrin earnestly ; " Ivan Kouzmitch can bear
witness to that."

" Yes, I believe you," said Ivan Kouzmitch ; " the wife is
not one of the timid ones."

"And Maria Ivanovna," I asked, "is she as brave as
you?"

" Masha brave ? " replied her mother. " No, Masha is a
coward. Up to the present time she has never been able to
hear the report of a gun without trembling all over. Two
years ago, when Ivan Kouzmitch took the idea into his

D

36 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

head to fire off our cannon on my name-day,* my little
dove was so frightened that she nearly died through
terror. Since then we have never fired off the accursed
cannon."

We rose from the table. The Captain and his wife went
to indulge in a nap, and I accompanied Shvabrin to his
quarters, where I spent the whole evening.

^ The Russians do not keep the actual day of their birth, but their
name-day — that is, the day kept in honour of the saint after whom they
aj-e called.

37

CHAPTER IV.

THE DUEL.

SEVERAL weeks passed by, and my life in the fortress
of Bailogorsk became not only endurable, but even
agreeable. In the house of the Commandant I was received
as one of the family. Both husband and wife were very
worthy persons. Ivan Kouzmitch, who had risen from the
ranks, was a simple and unaffected man, but exceedingly
honest and good-natured. His wife managed things gene-
rally for him, and this was quite in harmony with his easy-
going disposition. Vassilissa Egorovna looked after the
business of the service as well as her own domestic affairs,
and ruled the fortress precisely as she did her own house.
Maria Ivanovna soon ceased to be shy in my presence.
We became acquainted. I found her a sensible and feeling
girl. In an imperceptible manner I became attached to
this good family, even to Ivan Ignatitch, the one-eyed
garrison lieutenant, whom Shvabrin accused of being on
terms of undue intimacy with Vassilissa Egorovna, an
accusation which had not a shadow of probabiHty to give
countenance to it ; but Shvabrin did not trouble himself
about that.

I was promoted to the rank of officer. My duties were
not very heavy. In this God-protected fortress there was
neither parade, nor drill, nor guard-mounting. The Com-
mandant sometimes instructed the soldiers for his own
amusement, but he had not yet got so far as teaching them

38 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

which was the right-hand side and which the left. Shvabrin
had several French books in his possession. I began to
read them, and this awakened within me a taste for litera-
ture. In the morning I read, exercised myself in trans-
lating, and sometimes even attempted to compose verses.
I dined nearly always at the Commandant's, where I gene-
rally spent the rest of the day, and where sometimes of an
evening came Father Gerasim, with his wife, Akoulina Pam-
philovna, the greatest gossip in the whole neighbourhood.
It is unnecessary for me to mention that Shvabrin and I saw
each other .every day, but his conversation began to be
more disagreeable the more I saw of him. His continual
ridiculing of the Commandant's family, and especially his
sarcastic observations concerning Maria Ivanovna, annoyed
me exceedingly. There was no other society in the fortress,
and I wished for no other.

In spite of the predictions, the Bashkirs did not revolt.
Tranquillity reigned around our fortress. But the peace
was suddenly disturbed by civil dissensions.

I have already mentioned that I occupied myself with
literature. My essays were tolerable for those days, and
Alexander Petrovitch Soumarokoff,^ some years afterwards,
praised them very much. One day I contrived to write a
little song with which I was much pleased. It is well-
known that, under the appearance of asking advice, authors
frequently endeavour to secure a well-disposed listener.
And so, writing out my little song, I took it to Shvabrin,
who was the only person in the whole fortress who could
appreciate a poetical production. After a short preamble,
I drew my manuscript out of my pocket, and read to him
the following verses :

^ A Russian dramatic poet, once celebrated, but now almost for-
gotten. His most popular works were two tragedies, "Khoreff," and
♦'Demetrius the Pretender."

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 39

•* I banish thoughts of love, and try
My fair one to forget ;
And, to be free again, I fly
From Masha with regret.

** My troubled soul no rest can know.
No peace of mind for me ;
For wheresoever I may go,
Those eyes I still shall see.

" Take pity, Masha, on this heart
Oppressed by grief and care ;
And let compassion rend apart
The clouds of dark despair. "

"What do you think of it?" I asked Shvabrin, expecting
that praise which I considered I was justly entitled to. But,
to my great disappointment, Shvabrin, who was generally
complaisant; declared very peremptorily that the verses
were not worth much.

'''And why?" I asked, hiding my vexation.

" Because," he replied, " such verses are worthy of my
instructor Tredyakovsky,^ and remind me very much of his
love couplets."

Then he took the manuscript from me and began un-
mercifully to pull to pieces every verse and word, jeering at
me in the most sarcastic manner. This was more than I
could endure, and snatching my manuscript out of his hand,
I told him that I would never show him any more of my
compositions. Shvabrin laughed at my threat.

" We shall see," said he, " if you will keep your word. A
poet needs a listener, just as Ivan Kouzmitch needs his
decanter of brandy before dinner. And who is this Masha
to whom you declare your tender passion and your amorous
distress? Can it be Maria Ivanovna?"

^ A minor poet of the last century.

40 poushkin's prose tales.

" That is not your business," replied I, frowning ; " it is
nothing to do with you who she is. I want neither your
opinion nor your conjectures."

" Oho ! my vain poet "and discreet lover ! " continued
Shvabrin, irritating me more and more. *'But listen to a
friend's advice ; if you wish to succeed, I advise you not to
have recourse to writing verses."

"What do you mean, sir? Please explain yourself."

" With pleasure. I mean that if you wish Masha Mironoff
to meet you at dusk, instead of tender verses, you must
make her a present of a pair of ear-rings."

My blood began to boil.

"Why have you such an opinion of her?" I asked, with
difficulty restraining my anger.

" Because," replied he, with a fiendish smile, " I know
from experience her ways and habits."

'* You lie, scoundrel ! " I exclaimed with fury. " You lie
in the most shameless manner ! "

Shvabrin changed colour.

"This shall not be overlooked," said he, pressing my
hand. "You shall give me satisfaction."

" With pleasure, whenever you like," I replied, dehghted
beyond measure.

At that moment I was ready to tear him in pieces.

I immediately hastened to Ivan Ignatitch, and found him
with a needle in his hand ; in obedience to the commands
of the Commandant's wife he was stringing mushrooms for
drying during the winter.

" Ah, Peter Andreitch," said he, on seeing me, " you are
welcome. May I ask on what business Heaven has brought
you here ? "

In a few words I explained to him that, having had a
quarrel with Shvabrin, I came to ask him — Ivan Ignatitch —
to be my second.

THE CAPTAIN S DAUGHTER. 4I

Ivan Ignatitch listened to me with great attention, keep-
ing his one eye fixed upon me all the while.

" You wish to say," he said to me, " that you want to kill
Shvabrin, and that you would like me to be a witness to it ?
Is that so, may I ask ?

" Exactly so."

" In the name of Heaven, Peter Andreitch, whatever are you
thinking of! You have had a quarrel with Shvabrin. What
a great misfortune ! A quarrel should not be hung round
one's neck. He has insulted you, and you have insulted
him ; he gives you one in the face, and you give him one
behind the ear ; a second blow from him, another from you
— and then each goes his own way; in a little while we
bring about a reconciUation. ... Is it right to kill one's
neighbour, may I ask ? And suppose that you do kill him
— God be with him ! I have no particular love for him.
But what if he were to let daylight through you ? How
about the matter in that case ? Who would be the worst off
then, may I ask ? "

The reasonings of the discreet lieutenant produced no
effect upon me ; I remained firm in my resolution.

'*As you please," said Ivan Ignatitch; "do as you like.
But why should I be a witness to it ? People fight, — what
is there wonderful in that, may I ask ? Thank Heaven ! I
have fought against the Swedes and the Turks, and have
seen enough of every kind of fighting."

I endeavoured to explain to him, as well as I could, the
duty of a second ; but Ivan Jgnatitch could not understand
me at all.

" Have your own way," said he ; " but if I ought to mix
myself up in the matter at all, it should be to go to Ivan
Kouzmitch and report to him, in accordance with the
rules of the service, that there was a design on foot to
commit a crime within the fortress, contrary to the interest

42 poushkin's prose tales.

of the crown, and to request him to take the necessary
measures "

I felt alarmed, and implored Ivan Ignatitch not to say
anything about the matter to the Commandant ; after much
difficulty I succeeded in talking him over, he gave me his
word, and then I took leave of him.

I spent the evening as usual at the Commandant's house.
I endeavoured to appear gay and indifferent, so as not to
excite suspicion, and in order to avoid importunate ques-
tions ; but I confess that I had not that cool assurance
which those who find themselves in my position nearly
always boast about. That evening I was disposed to be
tender and sentimental. Maria Ivanovna pleased me more
than usual. The thought that perhaps I was looking at her
for the last time, imparted to her in my eyes something
touching. Shvabrin likewise put in an appearance. I took
him aside and informed him of my interview with Ivan
Ignatitch.

"What do we want seconds for?" said he, drily; *'we
can do without them."

We agreed to fight behind the hayricks which stood near
the fortress, and to appear on the ground at seven o'clock
the next morning.

We conversed together in such an apparently amicable
manner that Ivan Ignatitch was nearly betraying us in the
excess of his joy.

" You should have done that long ago," he said to me,
with a look of satisfaction ; " a bad reconciliation is better
than a good quarrel."

" What's that, what's that, Ivan Ignatitch ? " said the
Commandant's wife, who was playing at cards in a corner.
" I did not hear what you said."

Ivan Ignatitch, perceiving signs of dissatisfaction upon
my face, and remembering his promise, became confused,

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 43

and knew not what reply to make. Shvabrin hastened to
his assistance.

" Ivan Ignatitch," said he, " approves of our reconcilia-
tion."

"And with whom have you been quarrelling, my little
father?"

"Peter Andreitch and I have had rather a serious fall
out."

" What about ? "

" About a mere trifle — about a song, Vassilissa Egorovna."

" A nice thing to quarrel about, a song ! But how did it
happen ? "

" In this way. Peter Andreitch composed a song a short
time ago, and this morning he began to sing it to me, and I
began to hum my favourite ditty :

* Daughter of the Captain,
Walk not out at midnight.'

'Then there arose a disagreement. Peter Andreitch grew
angry, but then he reflected that everyone likes to sing
what pleases him best, and there the matter ended."
' Shvabrin's insolence nearly made me boil over with fury ;
but nobody except myself understood his coarse insinua-
tions ; at least, nobody paid any attention to them. From
songs the conversation turned upon poets, and the Com-
mandant observed that they were all rakes and terrible
drunkards, and advised me in a friendly manner to have
nothing to do with poetry, as it was contrary to the rules of
the service, and would lead to no good.

Shvabrin's presence was insupportable to me. I soon took
leave of the Commandant and his family, and returned
home. I examined my sword, tried the point of it, and
then lay down to sleep, after giving Savelitch orders to wake
me at seven o'clock.

The next morning, at the appointed hour, I stood ready

44 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

behind the hayricks, awaiting my adversary. He soon
made his appearance.

"We may be surprised," he said to me, "so we must
make haste."

We took off our uniforms, remaining in our waistcoats,
and drew our swords. At that moment Ivan Ignatitch and
five of the old soldiers suddenly made their appearance
from behind a hayrick, and summoned us to go before the
Commandant. We obeyed with very great reluctance ; the
soldiers surrounded us, and we followed behind Ivan
Ignatitch, who led the way in triumph, striding along with
majestic importance.

We reached the Commandant's house. Ivan Ignatitch
threw open the door, exclaiming triumphantly :

" Here they are ! "
• Vassilissa Egorovna came towards us.

" What is the meaning of all this, my dears ? A plot to
commit murder in our fortress ! Ivan Kouzmitch, put
them under arrest immediately ! Peter Andreitch ! Alexei
Ivanitch ! Give up your swords — give them up at once !
Palashka, take the swords into the pantry. Peter Andreitch,
I did not expect this of you ! Are you not ashamed ? As
regards Alexei Ivanitch, he was turned out of the Guards
for killing a man ; he does not believe in God. Do you
wish to be like him ? "

Ivan Kouzmitch agreed with everything that his wife said,
and added :

" Yes, Vassilissa Egorovna speaks the truth ; duels are
strictly forbidden by the articles of war."

In the meanwhile Palashka had taken our swords and
carried them to the pantry. I could not help smiling.
Shvabrin preserved his gravity.

" With all due respect to you," he said coldly to her, " I
cannot but observe that you give yourself unnecessary

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 45

trouble in constituting yourself our judge. Leave that to
Ivan Kouzmitch j it is his business."

'* What do you say, my dear ! " exclaimed the Com-
mandant's wife. " Are not husband and wife, then, one soul
and one body ? Ivan Kouzmitch ! what are you staring at ?
Place them at once in separate corners on bread and water,
so that they may be brought to their proper senses, and then
let Father Gerasim impose a penance upon them, that they
may pray to God for forgiveness, and show themselves
repentant before men."

Ivan Kouzmitch knew not what to do. Maria lyanovna
was exceedingly pale. Gradually the storm blew over ; the
Commandant's wife recovered her composure, and ordered
us to embrace each other. Palashka brought back our swords
to us. We left the Commandant's house to all appearance
perfectly reconciled. Ivan Ignatitch accompanied us.

" Were you not ashamed," I said angrily to him, ** to go
and report us to the Commandant, after having given me
your word that you would not do so ? "

" As true as there is a heaven above us, I did not menti6n
a word about the matter to Ivan Kouzmitch," he replied.
"Vassilissa Egorovna got everything out of me. She
arranged the whole business without the Commandant's
knowledge. However, Heaven be thanked that it has all
ended in the way that it has ! "

With these words he returned home, and Shvabrin and I
remained alone.

" Our business cannot end in this manner," I said to him.

" Certainly not," replied Shvabrin ; " your blood shall
answer for your insolence to me ; but we shall doubtless be
watched. For a few days, therefore, we must dissemble.
Farewell, till we meet again."

And we parted as if nothing were the matter.

Returning to the Commandant's house I seated myself, as

4.6 poushkin's prose tales.

usual, near Maria Ivanovna. Ivan Kouzmitch was not at
home. Vassilissa Egorovna was occupied with household
matters. We were conversing together in an under tone.
Maria Ivanovna reproached me tenderly for the uneasiness
which I had caused them all by my quarrel with Shvabrin.

**I almost fainted away," said she, "when they told us that
you intended to fight with swords. What strange beings men
are ! For a single word, which they would probably forget a
week afterwards, they are ready to murder each other and
to sacrifice not only their life, but their conscience and the

happiness of those But I am quite sure that you did not

begin the quarrel. Without doubt, Alexei Ivanitch first
began it."

''Why do you think so, Maria Ivanovna?"

"Because — he is so sarcastic. I do not like Alexei
Ivanitch. He is very disagreeable to me ; yet it is strange :
I should not like to displease him. That would cause me
great uneasiness."

"And what do you think, Maria Ivanovna — do you
please him or not ? **

Maria Ivanovna blushed and grew confused.

" I think," said she, " I believe that I please him."

" And why do you think so ? "

." Because he once proposed to me."

" Proposed ! He proposed to you ? And when ? "

" Last year ; two months before your arrival."

" And you refused ? "

" As you see. Alexei Ivanitch is, to be sure, a sensible
man and of good family, and possesses property ; but when
I think that I should have to kiss him under the crown ^ in
the presence of everybody — no ! not for anything in the
world ! "

^ Crowns are held above the heads of the bride and bridegroom
during the marriage ceremony in Russia.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 47

Maria Ivanovna's words opened my eyes and explained a
great many things. I now understood why Shvabrin calum-
niated her so remorselessly. He had probably observed our
mutual inclination towards each other, and endeavoured to
produce a coolness between us. The words which had
been the cause of our quarrel appeared to me still more
abominable, when, instead of a coarse and indecent jest, I
was compelled to look upon them in the light of a deliberate
calumny. The wish to chastise the insolent slanderer became
still stronger within me, and I waited impatiently for a favour-
able opportunity for putting it into execution.

I did not wait long. The next day, when I was occupied
in composing an elegy, and sat biting my pen while trying
to think of a rhyme, Shvabrin tapped at my window. I threw
down my pen, took up my sword, and went out to him.

" Why should we delay any longer ? " said Shvabrin ;
"nobody is observing us. Let us go down to the river;
there no one will disturb us."

We set out in silence. Descending a winding path, we
stopped at the edge of the river and drew our swords.
Shvabrin was more skilful in the use of the weapon than I,
but I was stronger and more daring, and Monsieur Beaupr^,
who had formerly been a soldier, had given me some lessons
in fencing which I had turned to good account. Shvabrin
had not expected to find in me such a dangerous adversary.
For along time neither of us was able to inflict any injury
upon the other ; at last, observing that Shvabrin was begin-
ning to relax his endeavours, I commenced to attack him with
increased ardour, and almost forced him back into the river.
All at once I heard my name pronounced in a loud tone.
I looked round and perceived Savelitch hastening down the
path towards me. ... At that same moment I felt a sharp
thrust in the breast, beneath the right shoulder, and I fell
senseless to the ground,

48

CHAPTER V.

LOVE.

ON recovering consciousness I for some time could
neither understand nor remember what had hap-
pened to me. I was lying in bed in a strange room, and
felt very weak. Before me stood Savelitch with a candle
in his hand. Someone was carefully unwinding the bandages
which were wrapped round my chest and shoulder. Little by
Httle my thoughts became more collected. I remembered
my duel and conjectured that I was wounded. At that
moment the door creaked.

" Well, how is he ? " whispered a voice which sent a thrill
through me.

"Still in the same condition," replied Savelitch with a
sigh ; " still unconscious, and this makes the fifth day that
he has been like it."

I wanted to turn round, but I was unable to do so.

*' Where am I ? Who is here ? " said I with an effort.

Maria Ivanovna approached my bed and leaned over me.

*' Well, how do you feel?" said she.

"God be thanked !" replied I in a weak voice. "Is it
you, Maria Ivanovna ? Tell me "

I had not the strength to continue and I became silent.
Savelitch uttered a shout and his face beamed with delight.

" He has come to himself again ! He has come to him-
self again !" he kept on repeating. "Thanks be to Thee,
Lord 1 Come, little father, Peter Andreitch ! What a

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 49

fright you have given me ! It is no light matter ; this is the
fifth day "

Maria Ivanovna interrupted him.

" Do not speak to him too much, Savelitch," said she,
" he is still very weak."

She went out of the room and closed the door very
quietly after her. My thoughts became agitated. And so
I was in the house of the Commandant ; Maria Ivanovna
had been to see me. I wanted to ask Savelitch a few
questions, but the old man shook his head and stopped his
ears. Filled with vexation, I closed my eyes and. soon fell
asleep.

When I awoke I called Savelitch, but instead of him I
saw Maria Ivanovna standing before me ; she spoke to me
in her angelic voice. I cannot describe the delightful
sensation which took possession of me at that moment. I
seized her hand, pressed it to my lips, and watered it with
my tears. Maria did not withdraw it ... . and suddenly
her lips touched my cheek, and I felt a hot fresh kiss im-
printed upon it. A fiery thrill passed through me.

"Dear, good Maria Ivanovna," I said to her, "be my
wife, consent to make me happy."

She recovered herself.

"For Heaven's sake, calm yourself," said she, withdrawing
her hand from my grasp; "you are not yet out of danger :
your wound may re-open. Take care of yourself, if only
for my sake."

With these words she left the room, leaving me in a
transport of bliss. Happiness saved me. "She will be
mine ! She loves me ! " This thought filled my whole
being.

From that moment I grew hourly better. The regimental
barber attended to the dressing of my wound, for there was
no other doctor in the fortress, and, thank heaven, he did

50 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

not assume any airs of professional wisdom. Youth and
nature accelerated my recovery. The whole family of the
Commandant attended upon me. Maria Ivanovna scarcely
ever left my side. As will naturally be supposed, I seized
the first favourable opportunity for renewing my interrupted
declaration of love, and this time Maria Ivanovna listened
to me more patiently.

Without the least affectation she confessed that she was
favourably disposed towards me, and said that her parents,
without doubt, would be pleased at her good fortune.

" But think well," she added ; " will there not be oppo-
sition on the part of your relations ? "

This set me thinking. I was not at all uneasy on the
score of my mother's affection ; but, knowing my father's
disposition and way of thinking, I felt that my love would
not move him very much, and that he would look upon it
as a mere outcome of youthful folly.

I candidly confessed this to Maria Ivanovna, but I re-
\ solved, nevertheless, to write to my father as eloquently as
possible, to implore his paternal blessing. I showed the
letter to Maria Ivanovna, who found it so convincing and
touching, that she entertained no doubts about the success
of it, and abandoned herself to the feelings of her tender
heart with all the confidence of youth and love.
- With Shvabrin I became reconciled during the first days
of my convalescence. Ivan Kouzmitch, reproaching me for
having engaged in the duel, said to me :

"See now, Peter Andreitch, I ought really to put you
under arrest, but you have been punished enough already
without that. As for Alexei Ivanitch, he is confined under
guard in the corn magazine, and Vassilissa Egorovna has
got his sword under lock and key. He will now have
plenty of time to reflect and repent."

I was too happy to cherish any unfriendly feeling in my

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 5 1

heart. I began to intercede for Shvabrin, and the good
Commandant, with the consent of his wife, agreed to restore
him to liberty.

Shvabrin came to me ; he expressed deep regret for all
that had happened, confessed that he alone was to blame,
and begged of me to forget the past. Not being by nature
of a rancorous disposition, I readily forgave him the quarrel
which he had caused between us, and the wound which I
had received at his hands. In his slander I saw nothing
but the chagrin of wounded vanity and slighted love, and
I generously extended pardon to my unhappy rival.

I soon recovered my health and was able to return to my
own quarters. I waited impatiently for a reply to my letter,
not daring to hope, and endeavouring to stifle the sad pre-
sentiment that was ever uppermost within me. To Vassi-
Hssa Egorovna and her husband I had not yet given an
explanation ; but my proposal would certainly not come as a
surprise to them. Neither Maria Ivanovna nor I had
endeavoured to hide our feelings from them, and we felt
assured of their consent beforehand.

At last, one morning, Savelitch came to me carrying a
letter in his hand. I seized it with trembling fingers. The
address was in the handwriting of my father. This prepared
me for something serious, for the letters I received from
home were generally written by my mother, my father
merely adding a few lines at the end as a postscript. For
a long time I could not make up my mind to break the seal,
but kept reading again and again the solemn superscription :

" To my son, Peter Andreitch Grineff,
** Government ^ of Orenburg,

" Fortress of Bailogorsk.**

* For administrative purposes Russia is divided into seventy-two
governments, exclusive of Finland, which enjoys a separate adminis-
tration.

B

52 poushkin's prose tales.

I endeavoured to discover from the handwriting the dis-
position of mind which my father was in when the letter
was written. At last I resolved to open it, and I saw at the
very first glance that all my hopes were shipwrecked. The
letter ran as follows : —

" My son Peter,

'' Your letter, in which you ask for our paternal
blessing and our consent to your marriage with Maria
Ivanovna, the daughter of Mironoff, reached us the 15th
inst., and not only do I intend to refuse to give you my
blessing and my consent, but, furthermore, I intend to come
and teach you a lesson for your follies, as I would a child,
notwithstanding your officer's rank; for you have shown
yourself unworthy to carry the sword which was entrusted
to you for the defence of your native country, and not for
the' purpose of fighting duels with fools like yourself. I
shall write at once to Andrei Karlovitch to ask him to
transfer you from the fortress of Bailogorsk to some place
farther away, where you will be cured of your folly. Your
mother, on hearing of your duel and your wound, was taken
ill through grief, and she is now confined to her bed. I
pray to God that He may correct you, although I hardly
dare to put my trust in His great goodness.

*' Your father— A. G."

The reading of this letter excited within me various
feelings. The harsh expressions which my father had so
unsparingly indulged in afflicted me deeply. The con-
tempt with which he referred to Maria Ivanovna appeared to
me as indecent as it was unjust. The thought of my being
transferred from the fortress of Bailogorsk to some other
military station terrified me, but that which grieved me
more than everything else was the intelligence of my

53

mother's illness. I was very much displeased with Savelitch,
not doubting that my parents had obtained information of
my duel through him. After pacing up and down my narrow
room for some time, I stopped before him and said, as I^
looked frown in gly at him :

" It seems that you are not satisfied that, thanks to you,
I should be wounded and for a whole month lie at the
door of death, but you wish to kill my mother also."

Savelitch gazed at me as if he were thunderstruck.

" In the name of Heaven, master," said he, almost sob-
bing, " what do you mean? I the cause of your being
wounded ! God knows that I was running to screen you
with my own breast from the sword of Alexei Ivanovitch !
My accursed old age prevented me from doing so. But
what have I done to your mother ? "

'*What have you done?" replied I. "Who asked you to
write and denounce me? Have you then been placed near
me to act as a spy upon me ? "

" I write and denounce you ?" replied SaveHtch, with tears
in his eyes. " O Lord, King of Heaven ! Be pleased to
read what my master has written to me — you will then see
whether I have denounced you or not."

And with these words he took from his pocket a letter
and handed it to me.

It ran as follows : —

*' You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you old hound,
for not having — in spite of my strict injunctions to you to
do so — written to me and informed me of the conduct of
my son, Peter Andreitch, and leaving it to strangers to
acquaint me with his follies. Is it thus that you fulfil your
duty and your master's will ? I will send you to tend the
pigs, you old hound, for conceaUng the truth and for in-
dulging the young man. On receipt of this, I command
you to write back to me without delay, and inform me of

54 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

the present state of his health, of the exact place of his
wound, and whether he has been well attended to."

It was evident that Savelitch was perfectly innocent, and
that I had insulted him with my reproaches and suspicions
for no reason at all. I asked his pardon ; but the old man
was inconsolable.

" That I should have lived to come to this ! " he kept on
repeating; "these are the thanks that I receive from my
master. I am an old hound, a keeper of pigs, and I am
the cause of your being wounded. No, little father, Peter
Andreitch, it is not I, but that accursed mossoo who is to
blame : it was he who taught you to thrust with those iron
spits and to stamp your foot, as if by thrusting and stamping
one could protect himself from a bad man. It was very
necessary to engage that mossoo and so throw good money
to the winds ! "

But who then had taken upon himself the trouble to
denounce my conduct to my father ? The general ? But
he did not appear to trouble himself in the least about me ;
and Ivan Kouzmitch had not considered it necessary to
report my duel to him. I became lost in conjecture. My
suspicions settled upon Shvabrin. He alone could derive
any advantage from the denunciation, the result of which
might be my removal from the fortress a^d separation from
the Commandant's family. I went to inform Maria Ivanovna
of everything. She met me on the steps leading up to the
door.

"What has happened, to you?" said she, on seeing me;
" how pale you are ! "

" It is all over," replied I, and I gave her my father's
letter.

She now grew pale in her turn. Having read the letter,
she returned it to me with a trembling hand, and said, with
a quivering voice :

I

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 55

" Fate ordains that I should not be your wife. . . . Your
parents will not receive me into their family. God's will be
done ! God knows better than we do, what is good for us.
There is nothing to be done, Peter Andreitch ; may you be
happy "

" It shall not be ! " I exclaimed, seizing hold of her hand.
"You love me; I am prepared for everything. Let us go
and throw ourselves at the feet of your parents ; they are
simple people, not hard-hearted and proud. They will
give us their blessing ; we will get married . . . and then,
with time, I feel quite certain that we shall succeed in
bringing my father round ; my mother will be on our side ;
he will forgive me "

" No, Peter Andreitch," replied Masha, ** I will not marry
you without the blessing of your parents. Without their
blessing you will not be happy. Let us submit to the will
of God. If you meet with somebody else, if you love

another God be with you, Peter Andreitch, I will pray

for you both "

Then she burst into tears and left me. I wanted to
follow her into her room, but I felt that I was not in a con-
dition to control myself, and I returned home to my quarters.

I was sitting down, absorbed in profound thoughtfulness,
when Savelitch interrupted my meditations.

" Here, sir," said he, handing me a written sheet of
paper : '* see whether I am a spy upon my master, and
whether I try to cause trouble between father and son."

I took the paper out of his hand. It was the reply of
Savelitch to the letter which he had received. Here it is,
word for word :

** Lord Andrei Petrovitch, our gracious father,

" I have received your gracious letter, in which you
are pleased to be angry with me, your slave, telling me that

56 poushkin's prose tales.

I ought to be ashamed of myself for not fulfilling my
master's orders. I am not an old hound, but your faithful
servant, and I do obey my master's orders, and I have
always served you zealously till my grey hairs. I did not
write anything to you about Peter Andreitch's wound, in
order that I might not alarm you without a reason, and now
I hear that our lady, our mother, Avdotia Vassilevna, is ill
from fright, and I am going to pray to God to restore her to
health. Peter Andreitch was wounded under the right
shoulder, in the breast, exactly under a rib, to the depth of
nearly three inches, and he was put to bed in the Com-
mandant's house, whither we carried him from the bank of
the river, and he was healed by Stepan Paramonoff, the
barber of this place, and now, thank God, Peter Andreitch
is well, and I have nothing but good to write about him.
His superior officers, I hear, are satisfied with him ; and
Vassilissa Egorovna treats him as if he were her own son.
And because such an accident occurred to him, the young
man ought not to be reproached : the horse has four legs, and
yet he stumbles. And if it please you to write that I should
go and feed the pigs, let your lordly will be done. Herewith
I humbly bow down before you.

" Your faithful slave,

"Arkhip Savelitch.**

I could not help smiling several times while reading the
good old man's letter. I was not in a condition to reply
to my father, and Savehtch's letter seemed to me quite
sufficient to calm my mother's fears.

From this time my situation changed. Maria Ivanovna
scarcely ever spoke to me, nay, she even tried to avoid me.
The Commandant's house began to become insupportable
to me. Little by little I accustomed myself to remaining
at home alone. Vassilissa Egorovna reproached me for it

THE CAPTAINS DAUGHTER. 57

at first, but perceiving my obstinacy, she left me in peace.
Ivan Kouzmitch I only saw when the service demanded it ;
with Shvabrin I rarely came into contact, and then against
my will, all the more so because I observed in him a secret
enmity towards me, which confirmed me in my suspicions.
My life became unbearable to me. I sank into a profound
melancholy, which was enhanced by loneliness and inaction.
My love grew more intense in my solitude, and became
more and more tormenting to me. I lost all pleasure in
reading and literature. I grew dejected. I was afraid that
I should either go out of my mind or that I should give way
to dissipation. But an unexpected event, which exercised
an important influence upon my after life, suddenly occurred
to give to my soul a powerful and salutary shock.

KB

CHAPTER VI.

POUGATCHEFF.

BEFORE I proceed to write a description of the strange
events of which I was a witness, I must say a few
words concerning the condition of the government of Oren-
burg towards the end of the year 1773.

This rich and extensive government was inhabited by
hordeg of half-savage people, who had only recently ac-
knowledged the sovereignty of the Russian Czars. Their
continual revolts, their disinclination to a civilized life and
an existence regulated by laws, their fickleness and cruelty,
demanded on the part of the government a constant vigi-
lance in order to keep them in subjection. Fortresses had
been erected in convenient places, and were garrisoned for
the most part by Cossacks, who had formerly held posses-
sion of the shores of the Yaik. But these Yaikian Cossacks,
whose duty it was to preserve peace and to watch over the
security of this district, had themselves for some time past
become very troublesome and dangerous to the government.
In the year 1772 an insurrection broke out in their principal
city. The causes of it were the severe measures taken by
General Traubenberg to bring the army into a state of obedi-
ence. The result was the barbarous murder of Traubenberg,
the selection of new leaders, and finally the suppression of
the revolt by grapeshot and cruel punishments.

This happened a little while before my arrival at the
fortress of Bailogorsk. All was now quiet, or at least

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. $9

appeared so ; but the authorities believed too easily in the
pretended repentance of the cunning rebels, who nursed
their hatred in secret and only waited for a favourable
opportunity to recommence the struggle.

I now return to my narrative.

One evening (it was in the beginning of October in the
year 1773) I was sitting indoors alone, listening to the
moaning of the autumn wind, and gazing out of the window
at the clouds, as they sailed rapidly over the face of the
moon. A message was brought to me to wait upon the
Commandant. I immediately repaired to his quarters. I
there found Shvabrin, Ivan Ignatitch, and the Cossack
orderly. Neither Vassilissa Egorovna nor Maria Ivanovi^a
was in the room. The Commandant greeted me with a
pre-occupied air. He closed the door, made us all sit-down
except the orderly, who remained standing near the*door,
drew a paper out of his pocket, and said to us : —

" Gentlemen, we have here important news ! Hear what
the general writes."

Then he put on his spectacles and read as follows :

" To the Commandant of the Fortress of Bailogorsk,
Captain Mironoff. {Confidential.)

"I hereby inform you that the fugitive and schismatic
Don Cossack, Emelian Pougatcheff, after having been
guilty of the unpardonable insolence of assuming the name
of the deceased Emperor Peter HI.,^ has collected a band
of evil -disposed persons, has excited disturbances in the

^ Husband of the Empress Catherine W. The latter, whom the
Emperor had threatened to divorce, having won over to her side a con-
siderable portion of the army, had compelled her unpopular consort to
sign an act of abdication in 1762. Having been removed as a prisoner
to Ropscha, it was shortly afterwards announced that he had died of
colic, though the truth was, he had been strangled to death by Alexis
Orloff, one of Catherine's numerous admirers.

6o POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

settlements along the banks of the Yaik, and has already
taken and destroyed several fortresses, pillaging and murder-
ing on every side. Therefore, on the receipt of this letter,
you, Captain, will at once take the necessary measures to
repel the above-mentioned villain and impostor, and, if
possible, to completely annihilate him, if he should turn his
arms against the fortress entrusted to your care."

" Take the necessary measures," said the Commandant,
taking off his spectacles and folding up the letter ; " you see
that it is very easy to say that. The villain is evidently
strong in numbers, whereas we have but 130 men altogether,
not counting the Cossacks, upon whom we can place very
little dependence — without intending any reproach to you,
Maximitch." The orderly smiled. " Still, there is no help
for it, but to do the best we can, gentlemen. Let us be on
our guard and establish night patrols; in case of attack,
shut the gates and assemble the soldiers. You, Maximitch,
keep a strict eye on your Cossacks. See that the cannon
be examined and thoroughly cleaned. Above all things,
keep what I have said a secret, so that nobody in the fortress
may know anything before the time."

After giving these orders, Ivan Kouzmitch dismissed us.
I walked away with Shvabrin, reflecting upon what we had
heard.

" How do you think that this will end ? " I asked him.

"God knows," he replied; *'we shall see. I do not see
anything to be alarmed about at present. If, however "

Then he began to reflect and to whistle abstractedly a
French air.

In spite of all our precautions, the news of the appearance
of Pougatcheff soon spread through the fortress. Although
Ivan Kouzmitch entertained the greatest respect for his wife,
he would not for anything in the world have confided to her

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 6l

a secret entrusted to him in connection with the service.
After having received the general's letter, he contrived in a
tolerably dexterous manner to get Vassilissa Egorovna out of
the way, telling her that Father Gerasim had received some
extraordinary news from Orenburg, which he kept a great
secret. Vassilissa Egorovna immediately wished to go and
pay a visit to the pope's wife and, by the advice of Ivan
Kouzmitch, she took Masha with her, lest she should feel
dull by herself.

Ivan Kouzmitch, being thus left sole master of the situa-
tion, immediately sent for us, having locked Palashka in the
pantry, so that she might not be able to overhear what we
had to say.

Vassilissa Egorovna returned home, without having suc-
ceeded in getting anything out of the pope's wife, and she
learned that, during her absence, a council of war had been
held in Ivan Kouzmitch's house, and that Palashka had
been under lock and key. She suspected that she had been
duped by her husband, and she began to assail him with
questions. But Ivan Kouzmitch was prepared for the attack.
He was not in the least perturbed, and boldly made answer
to his inquisitive consort :

" Hark you, mother dear, our women hereabouts have
taken a notion into their heads to heat their ovens with
straw, and as some misfortune might be the outcome of it,
I gave strict orders that the women should not heat their
ovens with straw, but should burn brushwood and branches
of trees instead."

" But why did you lock up Palashka, then ? " asked his
wife. "Why was the poor girl compelled to sit in the
kitchen till we returned ? "

Ivan Kouzmitch was not prepared for such a question ;
he became confused, and stammered out something very
incoherent. Vassilissa Egorovna perceived her husband's

62 poushkin's prose tales.

perfidy, but, knowing that she would get nothing out of him
just then, she abstained from asking any further questions
and turned the conversation to the subject of the pickled
cucumbers, which Akoulina Pamphilovna knew how to
prepare in such an excellent manner. But all that night
Vassilissa Egorovna could not sleep a wink, nor could she
understand what it was that was in her husband's head that
she was not permitted to know.

The next day, as she was returning home from mass, she
saw Ivan Ignatitch, who was busily engaged in clearing
the cannon of pieces of rag, small stones, bits of bone, and
rubbish of every sort, which had been deposited there by
the little boys of the place. m

"What mean these warlike preparations?** thought the
Commandant's wife. " Can it be that they fear an attack on
the part of the Kirghises? But is it possible that Ivan
Kouzmitch could conceal such a trifle from me ? "

She called Ivan Ignatitch to her with the firm determina-
tion of learning from him the secret which tormented her
woman's curiosity.

Vassillissa Egorovna began by making a few observations
to him about household matters, like a judge who commences
an examination with questions foreign to the matter in hand,
in order to lull the suspicions of the person accused. Then,
after a silence of a few moments, she heaved a deep sigh,
and said, shaking her head :

" Oh, Lord God !. What news ! What will be the end of
all this?"

" Well, well, mother ! " replied Ivan Ignatitch ; " God
is merciful; we have soldiers enough, plenty of powder,
and I have cleaned the cannon. Perhaps we shall be
able to offer a successful resistance to this Pougatcheff ; if
God will only not abandon us, we shall be safe enough
here."

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 63

" And what sort of a man is this Pougatcheff ? " asked the
Commandant's wife.

Then Ivan Ignatitch perceived that he had said more
than he ought to have done, and he bit his tongue. But it
was now too late. VassiUssa Egorovna compelled him to
inform her of everything, having given him her word that
she would not mention the matter to anybody.
I Vassilissa Egorovna kept her promise and said not a word
|to anybody, except to the pope's wife, and to her only because
ler cow was still feeding upon the steppe, and might be
captured by the brigands.

Soon everybody was talking about Pougatcheff. The
eports concerning him varied very much. The Comman-
dant sent his orderly to glean as much information as pos-
sible about him in all the neighbouring villages and fortresses.
The orderly returned after an absence of two days, and re-
ported that, at about sixty versts from the fortress, he had seen
L large number of fires upon the steppe, and that he had heard
rem the Bashkirs that an immense force was advancing.
He could not say anything more positive, because he had
beared to venture further.

An unusual agitation now began to be observed among
he Cossacks of the fortress ; in all the streets they con-
egated in small groups, quietly conversing among them-
elves, and dispersing whenever they caught sight of a
dragoon or any other soldier belonging to the garrison.
They were closely watched by spies. Youlai, a converted
Calmuck, made an important communication to the com-
mandant. The orderly's report, according to Youlai, was a
false one ; on his return the treacherous Cossack announced
to his companions that he had been among the rebels, and
had been presented to their leader, who had given him his
hand and had conversed with him for a long time. The
Commandant immediately placed the orderly under arrest,

64 poushkin's prose tales.

and appointed Youlai in his place. This change was the
cause of manifest dissatisfaction among the Cossacks. They
murmured loudly, and Ivan Ignatitch, who executed the
Commandant's instructions, with his own ears heard them
say:

*' Just wait a little while, you garrison rat !"

The Commandant had intended interrogating the prisoner
that very same day, but the orderly had made his escape,
no doubt with the assistance of his partisans.

A fresh event served to increase the Commandant's un-
easiness. A Bashkir, carrying seditious letters, was seized.
On this occasion the Commandant again decided upon
assembling his officers, and therefore he wished once more to
get Vassilissa Egorovna out of the way under some plausible
pretext. But as Ivan Kouzmitch was a most upright and
sincere man, he could find no other method than that
employed on the previous occasion.

** Listen, Vassilissa Egorovna," he said to her, coughing
to conceal his embarrassment: **they say that Father
Gerasim has received "

"That's enough, Ivan Kouzmitch," said his wife, inter-
rupting him: "you wish to assemble a council of war to
talk about Emelian Pougatcheff without my being present ;
but you shall not deceive me this time."

Ivan Kouzmitch opened his eyes.

" Well, little mother," he said, " if you know everything,
you may remain ; we shall speak in your presence."

"Very well, my little father," replied she; "you should
not try to be so cunning ; send for the officers."

We assembled again. Ivan Kouzmitch, in the presence
of his wife, read to us Pougatcheff" 's proclamation, drawn
up probably by some half-educated Cossack. The robber
announced therein his intention of immediately marching
upon our fortress ; he invited the Cossacks and soldiers to

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 6$

join him, and advised the superior officers not to offer any
resistance, threatening them with death in the event of their
doing so. The proclamation was couched in coarse but
vigorous language, and could not but produce a powerful
impression upon the minds of simple people.

" What a rascal ! " exclaimed the Commandant's wife ;
" that he should propose such a thing to us. To go out to
meet him and lay our flags at his feet ! Ah ! the son of a
dog ! He does not know then that we have been forty
years in the service, and that, thanks to God, we have seen
a good deal during that time. Is it possible that there are
commandants who would be cowardly enough to yield to a
robber like him ? "

" There ought not to be," replied Ivan Kouzmitch ; " but
it is reported that the scoundrel has already taken several
fortresses."

" He seems to have great power," observed Shvabrin.

" We shall soon find out the real extent of his power,"
said the Commandant. *' Vassilissa Egorovna, give me the
key of the loft. Ivan Ignatitch, bring hither the Bashkir,
and tell Youlai to fetch a whip."

** Wait a moment, Ivan Kouzmitch," said his wife, rising
from her seat. '' Let me take Masha somewhere out of the
house ; otherwise she will hear the cries and will feel
frightened. And I myself, to tell the truth, am no lover of
inquisitions. So good-bye for the present."

Torture, in former times, was so rooted in our judicial
proceedings, that the benevolent ukase ' ordering its aboli-
tion remained for a long time a dead letter. It was thought
that the confession of the criminal was indispensable for
his full conviction — an idea not only unreasonable, but even
contrary to common sense from a jurisprudential point of
view ; for if the denial of the accused person be not accepted
' Torture was abolished in 1768 by an edict of Catherine II.

66 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

as proof of his innocence, the confession that has been
wrung from him ought still less to be accepted as a proof
of his guilt. Even in our days I sometimes hear old judges
regretting the abolition of the barbarous custom. But in
those days nobody had any doubt about the necessity of
torture, neither the judges nor even the accused persons
themselves. Therefore it was that the Commandant's order
did not astonish or alarm any of us. Ivan Ignatitch went
to fetch the Bashkir, who was confined in the loft, under
lock and key, and a few minutes afterwards he was led
prisoner into the ante-room. The Commandant ordered
the captive to be brought before him.

The Bashkir stepped with difficulty across the threshold
(for his feet were in fetters) and, taking off his high cap,
remained standing near the door. I glanced at him and
shuddered. Never shall I forget that man. He appeared
to be about seventy years of age, and had neither nose nor
ears. His head was shaved, and instead of a beard he had
a few grey hairs upon his chin ; he was of short stature, thin
and bent ; but his small eyes still flashed fire.

" Ah, ah ! " said the Commandant, recognizing by these
dreadful marks one of the rebels punished in the year 1741,
"I see you are an old wolf; you have already been caught
in our traps. It is not the first time that you have rebelled,
since your head is planed so smoothly. Come nearer;
speak, who sent you here ? "

The old Bashkir remained silent and gazed at the Com-
mandant with an air of complete stolidity.

**Why do you not answer?" continued Ivan Kouzmitch.
" Don't you understand Russian ? Youlai, ask him in your
language, who sent him to our fortress."

Youlai repeated the Commandant's question in the Tartar
language. But the Bashkir looked at him with the same
expression and answered not a word.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 6^

" By heaven ! " exclaimed the Commandant, " you shall
answer me. My lads ! take off that ridiculous striped gown
of his, and tickle his back. Youlai, see that it is carried
out properly."

Two soldiers began to undress the Bashkir. The face of
the unhappy man assumed an expression of uneasiness.
He looked round on every side, like a poor little animal
that has been captured by children. But when one of the
soldiers seized his hands to twine them round his neck,
and raised the old man upon his shoulders, and Youlai
grasped the whip and began to flourish it round his head,
then the Bashkir uttered a feeble groan, and, raising his
head, opened his mouth, in which, instead of a tongue,
moved a short stump.

When I reflect that this happened during my lifetime,
and that I now live under the mild government of the
Emperor Alexander, I cannot but feel astonished at the
rapid progress of civilization, and the diflusion of humane
ideas. Young man ! if these lines of mine should fall into
your hands, remember that those changes which proceed
from an amelioration of manners and customs are much
better and more lasting than those which are the outcome
of acts of violence.

We were all horror-stricken.

"Well," said the Commandant, "it is evident that we
shall get nothing out of him. Youlai, lead the Bashkir
back to the loft ; and let us, gentlemen, have a little further
talk about the matter."

We were yet considering our position, when Vassilissa
Egorovna suddenly rushed into the room, panting for
breath, and beside herself with excitement.

*'What has happened to you?" asked the astonished
Commandant.

" I have to inform you of a great misfortune ! " replied

F

6S POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Vassilissa Egorovna. ''Nijniosern was taken this morning.
Father Gerasim's servant has just returned from there. He
saw how they took it. The Commandant and all the officers
are hanged, and all the soldiers are taken prisoners. In a
little while the villains will be here."

This unexpected intelligence produced a deep impression
upon me. The Commandant of the fortress of Nijniosern,
a quiet and modest young man, was an acquaintance of
mine ; two months before he had visited our fortress when
on his way from Orenburg along with his young wife, and
had stopped for a little while in the house of Ivan Kouz-
mitch-. Nijniosern was about twenty-five versts from our
fortress. We might therefore expect to be attacked by
Pougatcheff at any moment. The fate in store for Maria
Ivanovna presented itself vividly to my imagination, and
my heart sank within me.

" Listen, Ivan Kouzmitch," said I to the Commandant ;
*' our duty is to defend the fortress to the last gasp ; there
is no question about that. But we must think about the
safety of the women. Send them on to Orenburg, if the
road be still open, or to some safer and more distant
fortress where these villains will not be able to make their
way."

Ivan Kouzmitch turned round to his wife and said to
her :

" Listen, mother ; would it not be just as well if we sent
you away to some place farther off until we have settled
matters with these rebels ? "

" What nonsense ! " said the Commandant's wife. " Where
is there a fortress that would be safe from bullets ? Why is
Bailogorsk not safe ? Thank God, we have lived in it for
two-and-twenty years ! We have seen Bashkirs and Kirghises ;
perhaps we shall also escape the clutches of Pougatcheff."

" Well, mother," replied Ivan Kouzmitch, '' stay if you

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 69

like, if you have such confidence in our fortress. But what
shall we do with Masha? All well and good if we offer a
successful resistance, or can hold out till we obtain help;
but what if the villains should take the fortress ? "

"Why, then "

But at this juncture Vassilissa Egorovna began to stammer
and then remained silent, evidently agitated by deep
emotion.

*' No, Vassilissa Egorovna," continued the Commandant,
observing that his words had produced an impression upon
her, perhaps for the first time in his life, " Masha must not
remain here. Let us send her to Orenburg, to her god-
mother ; there are plenty of soldiers and cannon there, and
the walls are of stone. And I would advise you to go there
with her ; for although you are an old woman, think what
might happen to you if the fortress should be taken by
storm."

" Very well," replied the Commandant's wife ; " let it be
so : we will send Masha away. As for me, you need not
trouble yourself about asking me to go ; I will remain here.
Nothing shall make me part from you in my old age to go
and seek a lonely grave in a strange country. Together we
have lived, together we will die."

**Well, you are right," said the Commandant; *' but let
us not delay any longer. Go and get Masha ready for the
journey. She must set out at daybreak to-morrow, and we
shall let her have an escort, although we have not too many
men in the fortress to be able to spare any of them. But
where is Masha ? "

"Along with Akoulina Pamphilovna," replied the Com-
mandant's wife. " She fainted away when she heard of the
capture of Nijniosern; I am afraid that she will be ill.
Lord God of heaven, what have we lived to see ! "

Vassilissa Egorovna went to prepare for her daughter's

^0 POUSHKIN S PROSE TALES.

departure. The consultation with the Commandant was
then continued ; but I no longer took any part in it, nor
did I listen to anything that was said. Maria Ivanovna
appeared at supper, her face pale and her eyes red with
weeping. We supped in silence, and rose from the table
sooner than usual ; then taking leave of the family, we all
returned to our respective quarters. But I intentionally
forgot my sword, and went back for it : I had a presenti-
ment that I should find Maria alone. True enough I met
her in the doorway, and she handed me my sword.

" Farewell, Peter Andreitch ! " she said to me, with tears
in her eyes; "they are going to send me to Orenburg.
May you be well and happy. God may be pleased to
prdain that we should see each other again ; if not "

Here she burst out sobbing. I clasped her in my arms.

" Farewell, my angel ! " said I. ** Farewell, my darling, my
heart's desire ! Whatever may happen to me, rest assured
that my last thought and last prayer shall be for you."

Masha still continued to weep, resting her head upon
my breast. I kissed her fervently, and hastily quitted the
room.

71

CHAPTER VII.

THE ASSAULT.

THAT night I neither slept nor undressed. It was my
intention to proceed early in the morning to the gate
of the fortress through which Maria Ivanovna would have
to pass, so that I might take leave of her for the last time.
I felt within myself a great change ; the agitation of my soul
was far less burdensome to me than the melancholy into
which I had lately fallen. With the grief of separation there
was mingled a vague, but sweet hope, an impatient expecta-
tion of danger, a feeling of noble ambition.

The night passed away imperceptibly. I was just about
to leave the house when my door opened, and the corporal
entered the room with the information that our Cossacks
had quitted the fortress during the night, taking Youlai by
force along with them, and that strange people were riding
round the fortress. The thought that Maria Ivanovna
would not be able to get away filled me with alarm. I
hurriedly gave some orders to the corporal, and then
hastened at once to the Commandant's quarters.

Day had already begun to dawn. I was hurrying along
the street when I heard someone call out my name. I
stopped.

" Where are you going ? " said Ivan Ignatitch, overtaking
me. " Ivan Kouzmitch is on the rampart, and he has sent
me for you. Pougatch ^ has come."

A pun on the name of the rebel chief. Literally, " a scarecrow."

72 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" Has Maria Ivanovna left the fortress?" I asked, with a
trembling heart.

" She was unable to do so," replied Ivan Ignatitch ; " the
road to Orenburg is cut off and the fortress is surrounded.
It is a bad look-out, Peter Andreitch."

We made our way to the rampart, an elevation formed by
nature and fortified by a palisade. The inhabitants of the
fortress were already assembled there. The garrison stood
drawn up under arms. The cannon had been dragged
thither the day before. The Commandant was walking up
and down in front of his little troop. The approach of
danger had inspired the old warrior with unusual vigour.
On the steppe, not very far from the fortress, about a score
of men could be seen riding about on horseback. They
seemed to be Cossacks, but among them were some Bashkirs,
who were easily recognized by their hairy caps, and by their
quivers.

The Commandant walked along the ranks of his little
army, saying to the soldiers :

"Now, my children, let us stand firm to-day for our
mother the Empress,, and let us show the whole world that
we are brave people, and true to our oath."

The soldiers responded to his appeal with loud shouts.
Shvabrin stood near me and attentively observed the enemy.
The people riding about on the steppe, perceiving some
movement in the fortress, gathered together in a group and
began conversing among themselves. The Commandant
ordered Ivan Ignatitch to point the cannon at them, and
then applied the match to it with his own hand. The ball
whistled over their heads, without doing any harm. The
horsemen dispersed, galloping out of sight almost imme-
diately, and the steppe was deserted.

At that moment Vassilissa Egorovna appeared upon the
rampart, followed by Masha, who was unwilling to leave her.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 73

"Well," said the Commandant's wife, "how goes the
battle ? Where is the enemy ? "

"The enemy is not far off," replied Ivan Kouzmitch.
" God grant that all may go well ! . . . Well, Masha, do
you feel afraid ? "

** No, papa," replied Maria Ivanovna j " I feel more afraid
being at home alone."

Then she looked at me and made an effort to smile. I
involuntarily grasped the hilt of my sword, remembering
that I had received it from her hand the evening before —
as if for the protection of my beloved. My heart throbbed.
I imagined myself her champion. I longed to prove that I
was worthy of her confidence, and waited impatiently for
the decisive moment.

All of a sudden some fresh bodies of mounted men made
their appearance from behind an elevation situated about half
a mile from the fortress, and soon the steppe was covered
with crowds of persons armed with lances and quivers.
Among them, upon a white horse, was a man in a red caftan^
holding a naked sword in his hand ; this was Pougatcheff
himself. He stopped his horse, and the others gathered round
him, and, in obedience to his order as it seemed, four men
detachtd themselves from the crowd and galloped at full
speed towards the fortress. We recognized among them some
of our traitors. One of them held a sheet of paper above his
head, while another bore upon the top of his lance the head
of Youlai, which he threw over the palisade among us. The
head of the poor Calmuck fell at the feet of the Commandant.

The traitors cried out :

" Do not fire ! Come out and pay homage to the Czar.
The Czar is here ! "

''Look out for yourselves!" cried Ivan Kouzmitch,
" Ready, lads— fire ! "

^ A kind of overcoat

74 poushkin's prose tales.

Our soldiers fired a volley. The Cossack who held the
letter staggered and fell from his horse ; the others galloped
back. I turned and looked at Maria Ivanovna. Terror-
stricken by the sight of the bloodstained head of Youlai,
and stunned by the din of the discharge, she seemed per-
fectly paralyzed. The Commandant called the corporal and
ordered him to fetch the paper from the hands of the fallen
Cossack. The corporal went out into the plain, and re-
turned leading by the bridle the horse of the dead man.
He handed the letter to the Commandant. Ivan Kouzmitch
read it to himself and then tore it into pieces. In the mean-
time we could see the rebels preparing for the attack. Soon
the bullets began to whistle about our ears, and several
arrows fell close to us, sticking in the ground and in the
palisade.

" Vassilissa Egorovna ! " said the Commandant ; "women
have no business here. Take Masha away; you see that
the girl is more dead than alive."

Vassilissa Egorovna, tamed by the bullets, cast a glance
at the steppe, where a great commotion was observable, and
then turned round to her husband and said to him :

"Ivan Kouzmitch, life and death are in the hands of
God ; bless Masha. Masha, come near to your father."

Masha, pale and trembling, approached Ivan Kouzmitch,
knelt down before him, and bowed herself to the ground.
The old Commandant made the sign of the cross over her
three times, then raised her up, and kissing her, said in a
voice of deep emotion :

" Well, Masha, be happy. Pray to God ; He will never
forsake you. If you find a good man, may God give you
love and counsel. Live together as your mother and I have
lived. And now, farewell, Masha. Vassilissa Egorovna,
take her away quickly."

Masha threw her arms round his neck and sobbed aloud.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 75

" Let us kiss each other also," said the Commandant's
wife, weeping, " Farewell, my Ivan Kouzmitch. Forgive
me if I have ever vexed you in any way ! "

*' Farewell, farewell, little mother ! " said the Comman-
dant, embracing the partner of his joys and sorrows for so
many years. " Come now, that is enough ! Make haste
home ; and if you can manage it, put a sarafan ^ on Masha."

The Commandant's wife walked away along with her
daughter. I followed Maria Ivanovna with my eyes ; she
turned round and nodded her head to me.

Ivan Kouzmitch then returned to us, and bestowed all his
attention upon the enemy. The rebels gathered round their
leader and suddenly dismounted from their horses.

" Stand firm now," said the Commandant, " the assault is
going to begin."

At that moment frightful yells and cries rose in the air ;
the rebels dashed forward towards the fortress. Our cannon
was loaded with grape-shot.

The Commandant allowed them to come very close, and
then suddenly fired again. The grape fell into the very
midst of the crowd. The rebels recoiled and then dispersed
on every side. Their leader alone remained facing us. He
waved his sword and seemed to be vehemently exhorting
his followers to return to the attack. The shrieks and
j^ells, which had ceased for a minute, were immediately
enewed.

" Now, lads ! " said the Commandant ; " open the gate,
jeat the drum, and let us make a sally. Forward, and
follow me ! "

The Commandant, Ivan Ignatitch, and I were outside

^ A wide open robe without sleeves, beneath which is worn a full
ong-sleeved gown. It is usually made of velvet, richly embroidered,
he embroidery varying according to the rank of the wearer. It is the
nistom among the Russians to bury the dead in their richest dress.

76 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

the wall of the fortress in a twinkling ; but the timid garrison
did not move.

"Why do you hold back, my children?" cried Ivan
Kouzmitch. " If we are to die, let us die doing our duty ! "

At that moment the rebels rushed upon us and forced an
entrance into the fortress. The drum ceased to beat ; the
garrison flung down their arms. I was thrown to the ground,
but I rose up and entered the fortress along with the rebels.
The Commandant, wounded in the head, was surrounded by
a crowd of the robbers, who demanded of him the keys. I
was about to rush to his assistance, but several powerful
Cossacks seized hold of me and bound me with their sashes,
exclaiming :

"Just wait a little while and see what you will get, you
traitors to the Czar ! "

They dragged us through the streets; the inhabitants
came out of their houses with bread and salt ; ^ the bells
began to ring. Suddenly among the crowd a cry was raised
that the Czar was in the square waiting for the prisoners to
take their oath of allegiance to him. The throng pressed
towards the market-place, and our captors dragged us thither
also.

Pougatcheff was seated in an armchair on the steps of
the Commandant's house. He was attired in an elegant
Cossack caftan^ ornamented with lace. A tall cap of sable,
with gold tassels, came right down to his flashing eyes. His
face seemed familiar to me. He was surrounded by the
Cossack chiefs. Father Gerasim, pale and trembling, stood
upon the steps with a cross in his hands, and seemed to be
silently imploring mercy for the victims brought forward.
In the square a gallows was being hastily erected. As we
approached, the Bashkirs drove back the crowd, and we

^ The customary offering to a Russian emperor on entering a town.
The act is indicative of submission.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. Jf

were brought before Pougatcheff. The bells had ceased
ringing, and a deep silence reigned around.

"Which is the Commandant?" asked the pretender.

Our orderly stepped forward out of the crowd and pointed
to Ivan Kouzmitch.

Pougatcheff regarded the old man with a menacing look,
and said to him :

" How dared you oppose me — your emperor ? "

The Commandant, weakened by his wound, summoned
ill his remaining strength and replied in a firm voice :

" You are not my emperor ; you are a robber and a pre-
ender, that is what you are ! "

Pougatcheff frowned savagely and waved his white hand-
kerchief. Several Cossacks seized the old captain and
iragged him towards the gallows. Astride upon the cross-
)eam could be seen the mutilated Bashkir whom we had
jxamined the day before. He held in his hand a rope, and a
ainute afterwards I saw poor Ivan Kouzmitch suspended in
he air. Then Ivan Ignatitch was brought before Pougatcheff.

" Take the oath of fealty," said Pougatcheff to him, " to

iie Emperor Peter Fedorovitch ! " •
" You are not our emperor," replied Ivan Ignatitch, re-
eating the words of his captain ; " you, uncle, are a robber
nd a pretender ! "
Pougatcheff again waved his handkerchief, and the good
1 eutenant was soon hanging near his old chief.
It was now my turn. I looked defiantly at Pougatcheff,
repared to repeat the answer of my brave comrades, when,
) my inexpressible astonishment, I perceived, among the
ibels, Shvabrin, his hair cut close, and wearing a Cossack
iftan. He stepped up to Pougatcheff and whispered a few
rords in his ear.
" Let him be hanged 1 " said Pougatcheff, without even
oking at me.

78 poushkin's prose tales.

The rope was thrown round my neck. I began to repea
a prayer to myself, expressing sincere repentance for all m
sins, and imploring God to save all those who were dear t
me. I was led beneath the gibbet.

" Don't be afraid, don't be afraid," said my executioners
wishing sincerely, perhaps, to encourage me.

Suddenly I heard a cry :

" Stop, villains ! hold ! "

The executioners paused. I looked round. SaveHtcl
was on his knees at the feet of PougatchefF.

" Oh, my father ! " said my poor servant, " why shoul
you wish for the death of this noble child ? Let him go
you will get a good ransom for him ; if you want to mak
an example of somebody for the sake of terrifying others
order me to be hanged — an old man ! "

PougatchefF gave a sign, and I was immediately unboun*
and set at liberty.

" Our father pardons you," said the rebels who had charg
of me.

I cannot say that at that moment I rejoiced at my de
liverance, neither will I say that I was sorry for it. M
feelings were too confused. I was again led before th
usurper and compelled to kneel down in front of him
PougatchefF stretched out to me his sinewy hand.

" Kiss his hand, kiss his hand ! " exclaimed voices oi
every side of me.

But I would have preferred the most cruel punishment t(
such contemptible degradation.

" My little father, Peter Andreitch," whispered Savelitch
standing behind me and nudging my elbow, "do not b
obstinate. What will it cost you ? Spit ^ and kiss th'
brig pshaw ! kiss his hand ! "

^ A sign of contempt among Russians and Orientals.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 79

I did not move. Pougatcheff withdrew his hand, saying
with a smile ;

"His lordship seems bewildered with joy. Lift him
up!"

I was raised to my feet and released. I then stood by to
observe the continuation of the terrible comedy.

The inhabitants began to take the oath of allegiance.
They approached one after another, kissed the crucifix and
then bowed to the usurper. Then came the turn of the
soldiers of the garrison. The regimental barber, armed
with his blunt scissors, cut off their hair. Then, after
baking their heads, they went and kissed the hand of
Pougatcheff, who declared them pardoned, and then en-
rolled them among his followers.

All thi? lasted for about three hours. At length Pougat-
heff rose up from his armchair] and descended the steps,
ccompanied by his chiefs. A white horse, richly capari-
oned, was led forward to him. Two Cossacks took hold of
him under the arms and assisted him into the saddle. He
informed Father Gerasim that he would dine with him. At
t moment a woman's scream was heard. Some of the
brigands were dragging Vassilissa Egorovna, with her hair
dishevelled and her clothes half torn off her body, towards
the steps. One of them had already arrayed himself in her
^own. The others were carrying off beds, chests, tea-
services, linen, and all kinds of furniture.

' My fathers ! " cried the poor old woman, " have pity
ipon me and let me go. Kind fathers ! take me to Ivan
K.ouzmitch."

Suddenly she caught sight of the gibbet and recognized
ler husband.

*' Villains ! " she cried, almost beside herself; " what have
^ou done to him ? My Ivan Kouzmitch ! light of my life !
Drave soldier heart ! Neither Prussian bayonets nor Turkish

8o poushkin's prose tales.

bullets have touched you ; not in honourable fight have yoi
yielded up your life ; you received your death at the handi
of a runaway galley-slave ! "

**Make the old witch hold her tongue!" said Pougat-
cheff.

A young Cossack struck her on the head with his sabre,
and she fell dead at the foot of the steps. Pougatcheff rode
off; the crowd followed him.

Si

i

CHAPTER VIII.

AN UNINVITED GUEST.

THE square was deserted. I remained standing in tht
same place, unable to collect my thoughts, bewildered
as I was by so many terrible emotions.

Uncertainty with respect to the fate of Maria Ivanovna
tortured me more than anything else. Where was she?
What had become of her? Had she contrived to hide
herself? Was her place of refuge safe ?

Filled with these distracting thoughts, I made my way to
he Commandant's house. It was empty. The chairs,
ables, and chests were broken, the crockery dashed to
pieces, and everything in confusion. I ran up the little
staircase rvhich led to Maria's room, and which I now
entered for the first time in my life. Her bed had been
ransacked by thfe robbers ; the wardrobe was broken open
md plundered ; the small lamp was still burning before the
mpty image case.^ There was also left a small mirror
|ianging on the partition wall. . . . Where was the mistress of
his humble, virginal cell ? A terrible thought passed through
Tiy mind ] I imagined her in the hands of the robbers. . . .
S/iy heart sank within me. ... I wept bitterly, most bitterly,
nd called aloud the name of my beloved. ... At that
noment I heard a slight noise, and from behind the ward-
obe appeared Palasha, pale and trembling.

^ The small wardrobe, with glass doors, in which the sacred images
e kept, and which forms a domestic altar.

82 poushkin's prose tales.

" Ah, Peter Andreitch ! " said she, clasping her hands,
" What a day ! what horrors ! "

"And Maria Ivanovna?" I asked impatiently. **What
has become of Maria Ivanovna ? "

"The young lady is alive," replied Palasha; "she is
hiding in the house of Akoulina Pamphilovna."

" With the priest's wife ! " I exclaimed in alarm. " My
God ! Pougatcheff is there ! "

I dashed out of the room, and in the twinkling of an eye
I was in the street and hurrying off to the clergyman's house,
without devoting the slightest attention to anything else.
Shouts, songs, and bursts of laughter resounded from within.
. . . Pougatcheff was feasting with his companions. Palasha
had followed me thither. I sent her to call out Akoulina
Pamphilovna secretly. In about a minute the priest's wife
came out to me in the vestibule, with an empty bottle in
her hand.

" In Heaven's name ! where is Maria Ivanovna ? " I asked
with indescribable agitation.

" The dear little dove is lying down on my bed behind
the partition," replied the priest's wife. "But a terrible
misfortune had very nearly happened, Peter Andreitch !
Thanks be to God, however, everything has passed off
happily. The villain had just sat down to dine, when the
poor child uttered a moan ! ... I felt as if I should have
died. He heard it. * Who is that moaning in your room,
old woman?' — I bowed myself to the ground, and replied :
* My niece, Czar ; she has been lying ill for about a fort-
night.' — * And is your niece young ? ' — * She is young, Czar.'
— * Show me your niece then, old woman.' My heart sank
within me, but there was no help for it. * Very well, Czar ;
but the girl will not have the strength to get up and come
before your Grace.' — * Never mind, old woman, I will go
and see her myself.' And the villain went behind the

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 83

partition and, will you believe it ? — actually drew aside the
curtain and looked at her with his hawk-like eyes — but
nothing came of it,— God helped us ! Will you believe it?
I and the father were prepared for a martyr's death. For-
tunately, my little dove did not recognize him. Lord God !
what have we lived to see ! Poor Ivan Kouzmitch ! who
would havQ thought it ! . . . And Vassilissa Egorovna ?
And Ivan Ignatitch? What was he killed for? And how
came they to spare you ? And what do you think of Shva-
brin ? He has had his hair cut, and is now feasting inside
along with them ! He is a very sharp fellow, there is no
gainsaying that ! When I spoke of my sick niece — will you
believe it ? — he looked at me as if he would have stabbed
me ; but he did not betray me. I am thankful to him for
that, anyway."

At that moment I heard the drunken shouts of the guests
and the voice of Father Gerasim. The guests were de-
manding wine, and the host was calling for his wife.

" Go back home, Peter Andreitch," said the priest's wife,
somewhat alarmed ; " I cannot stop to speak to you now ;
I must go and wait upon the drunken scoundrels. It might
be unfortunate for you if you fell into their hands. Fare-
well, Peter Andreitch. What is to be, will be; perhaps
God will not abandon us ! "

The priest's wife went back inside the house. Somewhat
more easy in mind, I returned to my quarters. As I crossed
the square I saw several Bashkirs assembled round the
gibbets, engaged in dragging off the boots of those who had
been hanged. With difficulty I repressed my indignation,
feeling convinced that if I gave expression to it, it would
have been perfectly useless. The brigands invaded every
part of the fortress, and plundered the officers' houses. On
every side resounded the shouts of the drunken mutineers.
I reached home. Savelitch met me on the threshold,

G

84 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" Thank God ! " he exclaimed when he saw me ; "I was
beginning to think that the villains had seized you again.
Ah ! my little father, Peter Andreitch, will you believe it,
the robbers have plundered us of everything — clothes, linen,
furniture, plate — they have not left us a single thing. But
what does it matter ? Thank God ! they have spared your
life. But, my lord, did you recognize their leader ? "

** No, I did not recognize him. Who is he then ? "

" How, my little father ! Have you forgotten that
drunken scoundrel who swindled you out of the pelisse at
the inn? A brand new hareskin pelisse j and the beast
burst the seams in putting it on."

I was astounded. In truth, the resemblance of Pougat-
cheff to my guide was very striking. I felt convinced that
Pougatcheff and he were one and the same person, and
then I understood why he had spared my life. I could not
but feel surprised at the strange connection of events — a
child's pelisse, given to a roving vagrant, had saved me
from the hangman's noose, and a drunkard, who had passed
his Hfe in wandering from one inn to another, was now
besieging fortresses and shaking the empire !

"Will you not eat something?" asked Savelitch, still
faithful to his old habits. " There is nothing in the house ;
but I will go and search, and get something ready for
you."

When I was left alone, I began to reflect. What was I
to do ? To remain in the fortress now that it was in the
hands of the villain, or to join his band, was unworthy of an
officer. Duty demanded that I should go wherever my
services might still be of use to my fatherland in the
present critical position of its affairs. . . . But love strongly
urged me to remain near Maria Ivanovna and be her pro-
tector and defender. Although I foresaw a speedy and
inevitable change in the course of affairs, yet I could not

THE CAPTAIN*S DAUGHTER. 85

help trembling when I thought of the danger of her situa-
tion.

My reflections were interrupted by the arrival of one of
the Cossacks, who came to inform me that " the great Czar
required me to appear before him."

" Where is he ? " I asked, preparing to obey.

"In the Commandant's house," replied the Cossack.
" After dinner our father took a bath, but at present he is
resting. Ah ! your Excellency, it is very evident that he is
a distinguished person ; at dinner he deigned to eat two
roasted sucking pigs, then he entered the bath, where the
water was so hot that even Tarass Kourotchkin could not
bear it ; he had to give the besom to Tomka Bikbaieff, and
only came to himself through having cold water poured
over him. There is no denying it; all his ways are
majestic. . . . And I was told that in the bath he showed
his Czar's signs upon his breast : on one side a two-headed
eagle as large as a five-copeck piece, and on the other his
own likeness."

I did not consider it necessary to contradict the Cossack's
statement, and I accompanied him to the Commandant's
house, trying to imagine beforehand what kind of a recep-
tion I should meet with from PougatchefF, and endeavouring
to guess how it would end. The reader will easily under-
stand that I did not by any means feel easy within myself.

It was beginning to get dark when I reached the Com-
mandant's house. The gibbet, with its victims, loomed
black and terrible before me. The body of the poor Com-
mandant's wife still lay at the bottom of the steps, near
which two Cossacks stood on guard. The Cossack who
accompanied me went in to announce me, and, returning
almost immediately, conducted me into the room where,
the evening before, I had taken a tender farewell of Maria
Ivanovna.

S6 poushkin's prose tales.

An unusual spectacle presented itself to my gaze. At s
lable, covered with a cloth and loaded with bottles anc
glasses, sat Pougatcheff and some half-a-score of Cossaci
chiefs, in coloured caps and shirts, heated with wine, with
flushed faces and flashing eyes. I did not see among then:
Shvabrin and his fellow traitor, the orderly.

" Ah ! your Excellency ! " said Pougatchefl", seeing me,
" Welcome ; honour to you and a place at our banquet."

The guests moved closer together. I sat down silently
at the end of the table. My neighbour, a young Cossack,
tall and handsome, poured out for me a glass of wine,
which, however, I did not touch. I began to observe the
company with curiosity. Pougatcheflf occupied the seat ol
honour, his elbows resting on the table, and his broad fist
propped under his black beard. His features, regular and
sufficiently agreeable, had nothing fierce about them. He
frequently turned to speak to a man of about fifty years ol
age, addressing him sometimes as Count, sometimes as
Timofeitch, sometimes as uncle. All those present treated
each other as comrades, and did not show any particular
respect for their leader. The conversation was upon the
subject of the assault of the morning, of the success of
the revolt, and of their future operations. Each one
boasted of what he had done, expressed his opinion, and
fearlessly contradicted Pougatcheff". And in this strange
council of war it was resolved to march upon Orenburg ; a
bold movement, and which was to be very nearly crowned
with success ! The march was fixed for the following
day.

"Now, lads," said Pougatcheff, "before we retire to
rest, let us have my favourite song. Choumakoff,
begin!"

My neighbour sang, in a shrill voice, the following
melancholy peasants' song, and all joined in the chorus :

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. S^

** Stir not, mother, green forest of oak,
Disturb me not in my meditation ;
For to-morrow before the court I must go,
Before the stern judge, before the Czar himself.
The great Lord Czar will begin to question me :

* Tell me, young man, tell me, thou peasant's son,

With whom have you stolen, with whom have you robbed ?
Did you have many companions with you ? *

* I will tell you, true-believing Czar,
The whole truth I will confess to you.
My companions were four in number :
My first companion was the dark night,
My second companion was a steel knife,
My third companion was my good horse.
My fourth companion was my taut bow,
My messengers were my tempered arrows. '
Then speaks my hope, the true-believing Czar :

* Well done ! my lad, brave peasant's son ;
You knew how to steal, you knew how to reply :
Therefore, my lad, I will make you a present
Of a very high structure in the midst of a field —
Of two upright posts with a cross-beam above.' "

It is impossible to describe the effect produced upon me
by this popular gallows song, trolled out by men destined for
the gallows. Their ferocious countenances, their sonorous
voices, and the melancholy expression which they imparted
to the words, which in themselves were not very expressive,
filled me with a sort of poetical terror.

The guests drank another glass, then rose from the table
and took leave of Pougatcheff.

I wanted to follow them, but Pougatcheff said to me ;

" Sit down ; I want to speak to you."

We remained face to face.

For some moments we both continued silent. Pougat-
cheff looked at me fixedly, every now and then winking his
left eye with a curious expression of craftiness and drollery.
At last he burst out laughing, and with such unfeigned

88 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

merriment, that I, too, looking at him, began to laugh,
without knowing why.

** Well, your lordship," he said to me, ** confess now, you
were in a terrible fright when my fellows put the rope round
your neck. I do not believe that the sky appeared bigger
than a sheepskin to you just then . . . You would have
been strung up to the crossbeam if it had not been for your
servant. I knew the old fellow at once. Well, would your
lordship have thought that the man who conducted you to
the inn, was the great Czar himself ? "

Here he assumed an air of mystery and importance.

"You have been guilty of a serious offence against me,"
continued he, "but I pardoned you on account of your
virtue, and because you rendered me a service when I was
compelled to hide myself from my enemies. But you will
see something very different presently ! You will see how I
will reward you when I enter into possession of my king-
dom ! Will you promise to serve me with zeal ? "

The rascal's question, and his insolence, appeared to me
so amusing, that I could not help smiUng.

"Why do you smile?" he asked, frowning. "Perhaps
you do not believe that I am the great Czar ? Is that so ? —
answer plainly."

I became confused. To acknowledge a vagabond as
emperor was quite out of the question ; to do so seemed to
me unpardonable cowardice. To tell him to his face that
he was an impostor was to expose myself to certain death,
and that which I was prepared to say beneath the gibbet
before the eyes of the crowd, in the first outburst of my
indignation, appeared to me now a useless boast. I hesi-
tated. In gloomy silence Pougatcheff awaited my reply.
At last (and even now I remember that moment with self-
satisfaction) the sentiment of duty triumphed over my
human weakness. I replied to Pougatcheff :

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 89

" Listen, I will tell you the whole truth. Judge yourself:
can I acknowledge you as emperor? You, as a sensible
man, would know that it would not be saying what I really
thought."

" Who am I, then, in your opinion ? "

"God only knows; but whoever you may be, you are
playing a dangerous game."

Pougatcheff threw a rapid glance at me.

" Then you do not believe," said he, " that I am the
Emperor Peter ? Well, be it so. But is not success the
reward of the bold ? Did not Grishka Otrepieff ^ reign in
former days? Think of me what you please, but do not
leave me. What does it matter to you one way or the
other ? Whoever is pope is father. Serve me faithfully and
truly, and I will make you a field-marshal and a prince.
What do you say ? "

" No," I replied with firmness. " I am by birth a noble-
man ; I have taken the oath of fealty to the empress : I
cannot serve you. If you really wish me well, send me
back to Orenburg."

Pougatcheff reflected.

" But if I let you go," said he, " will you at least promise
not to serve against me ? "

" How can I promise you that?" I replied. "You your-
self know that it does not depend upon my own will. If I

* The first false Demetrius, the Perkin Warbeck of Russia. The
real Demetrius was the son of Ivan the Terrible (Ivan IV.), and is
generally believed to have been assassinated by order of Boris Godunoff,
a nobleman of Tartar origin, who was afterwards elected Czar.
OtrepiefTs story was that his physician had pretended to comply with
the orders of Boris, but had substituted the son of a serf for him.
Being supported in his claims by the Poles, the pretender succeeded in
gaining the throne, but his partiality for everything Polish aroused the
national jealousy of the Russians, and he was slain by the infuriated
populace of Moscow, after a brief reign of one year.

90 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

am ordered to march against you, I must go — there is no
help for it. You yourself are now a chief; you demand
obedience from your followers. How would it seem, if I
refused to serve when my services were needed ? My life is
in your hands : if you set me free, I will thank you ; if you
put me to death, God will be your judge ; but I have told
you the truth."

My frankness struck Pougatcheff.

*'Be it so," said he, slapping me upon the shoulder.
"One should either punish completely or pardon com-
pletely. Go then where you Hke, and do what you Hke.
Come to-morrow to say good-bye to me, and now go to
bed. I feel very drowsy myself."

I left Pougatcheff and went out into the street. The
night was calm and cold. The moon and stars were shining
brightly, lighting up the square and the gibbet. In the
fortress all was dark and still. Only in the tavern was a
light visible, where could be heard the noise of late revellers.
I glanced at the pope's house. The shutters and doors
were closed. Everything seemed quiet within.

I made my way to my own quarters and found Savelitch
grieving about my absence. The news of my being set at
liberty filled him with unutterable joy.

" Thanks be to Thee, Almighty God ! " said he, making
the sign of the cross. "At daybreak to-morrow we will
leave the fortress and go wherever God will direct us. I
have prepared something for you ; eat it, my little father,
and then rest yourself till the morning, as if you were in the
bosom of Christ."

I followed his advice and, having eaten with a good
appetite, I fell asleep upon the bare floor, worn out both in
body and mind.

9'

CHAPTER IX.

THE PARTING.

EARLY next morning I was awakened by the drum.
I went to the place of assembly. There Pougatcheff s
followers were already drawn up round the gibbet, where
the victims of the day before were still hanging. The
Cossacks were on horseback, the soldiers were under arms.
Flags were waving. Several cannon, among which I re-
cognized our own, were mounted on travelling gun-
carriages. All the inhabitants were gathered together there,
awaiting the usurper. Before the steps of the Comman-
dant's house a Cossack stood holding by the bridle a
magnificent white horse of Kirghis breed. I looked about
for the corpse of the Commandant's wife. It had been
pushed a little on one side and covered with a mat. At
length Pougatcheff came out of the house. The crowd
took off their caps. Pougatcheff stood still upon the steps
and greeted his followers. One of the chiefs gave him a
bag filled with copper coins, and he began to scatter them
by handfuls. The crowd commenced scrambling for them
with eager cries, and there was no lack of pushing and
scuffling in the attempts to get possession of them. Pougat-
cheff's chief followers assembled round him. Among them
stood Shvabrin. Our eyes met ; in mine he could read con-
tempt, and he turned away with an expression of genuine
hate and affected scorn. Pougatcheff, seeing me among
the crowd, nodded his head to me and called me to him.

92 poushkin's prose tales.

" Listen," said he to me, " set off at once for Orenburg
and tell the governor and all the generals from me, that
they may expect me in about a week. Advise them to
receive me with filial love and submission ; otherwise they
shall not escape a terrible punishment. A pleasant journey,
your lordship ! "

Then turning round to the crowd and pointing to Shva-
brin, he said :

" There, children, is your new Commandant. Obey him
in everything ; he is answerable to me for you and for the
fortress."

I heard these words with alarm : Shvabrin being made
governor of the fortress, Maria Ivanovna remained in his
power ! Great God ! what would become of her !

Pougatcheff descended the steps. His horse was brought
to him. He vaulted nimbly into the saddle, without waiting
for the Cossacks, who were going to help him to mount.

At that moment I saw my Savelitch emerge from the
midst of the crowd ; he approached Pougatcheff and gave
him a sheet of paper. I could not imagine what was the
meaning of this proceeding on his part.

" What is this ? " asked Pougatcheff, with an air of im-
portance.

" Read it, then you will see," replied Savelitch. Pougat-
cheff took the paper and examined it for a long time with a
consequential look.

" Why do you write so illegibly ? " said he at last. " Our
lucid eyes ^ cannot decipher a word. Where is my chief
secretary?"

A young man, in the uniform of a corporal, immediately
ran up to Pougatcheff.

^ An allusion to the customaiy form of speech on presenting a petition
to the Czar: "I strike the earth with my forehead, and present my
petition to your lucid eyes."

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 93

" Read it aloud," said the usurper, giving him the paper.

I was exceedingly curious to know what my follower
could have written to Pougatcheff about. The chief secre-
tary, in a loud voice, began to spell out as follows :

"Two dressing-gowns, one of linen and one of striped
silk, six roubles."

" What does this mean ? " said Pougatcheff, frowning.

'* Order him to read on," replied Savelitch coolly.

The chief secretary continued :

" One uniform coat of fine green cloth, seven roubles.

** One pair of white cloth breeches, five roubles.

" Twelve Holland linen shirts with ruffles, ten roubles.

" A chest and tea-service, two roubles and a half. . . ."

"What is all this nonsense?" exclaimed Pougatcheff.
"What are these chests and breeches with ruffles to do with
me?"

Savelitch cleared his throat and began to explain.

" This, my father, you will please to understand is a list
of my master's goods that have been stolen by those
scoundrels "

" What scoundrels ? " said Pougatcheff, threateningly.

" I beg your pardon, that was a slip on my part," replied
Savelitch. "They were not scoundrels, but your fellows,
who have rummaged and plundered everything. Do not be
angry: the horse has got four legs, and yet he stumbles.
Order him to read to the end."

" Read on to the end," said Pougatcheff.

The secretary continued :

" One chintz counterpane, another of taffety quilted with
cotton wool, four roubles.

" A fox-skin pelisse, covered with red flannel, forty roubles.

"Likewise a hare-skin morning-gown, presented to your
Grace at the inn on the steppe, fifteen roubles."

"What's that'!" exclaimed Pougatcheff, his eyes flashing fire.

94 poushkin's prose tales.

I confess that I began to feel alarmed for my pooi
servant. He was about to enter again into explanations,
but Pougatcheif interrupted him.

" How dare you pester me with such nonsense ! " he
cried, snatching the paper out of the secretary's hands and
flinging it in Savelitch's face. " Stupid old man ! You have
been robbed ; what a misfortune ! Why, old greybeard,
you ought to be eternally praying to God for me and my
lads, that you and your master are not hanging yonder along
with the other traitors to me. ... A hare-skin morning-
gown ! Do you know that I could order you to be flayed
alive and have your skin made into a morning-gown ? "

" As you please," rephed Savelitch ; " but I am not a free
man, and must be answerable for my lord's goods."

Pougatcheff was evidently in a magnanimous humour.
He turned round and rode off without saying another word.
Shvabrin and the chiefs followed him. The troops marched
out of the fortress in order. The crowd pressed forward to
accompany Pougatcheff. I remained in the square alone
with Savelitch. My servant held in his hand the Hst of my
things and stood looking at it with an air of deep regret.

Seeing me on such good terms with Pougatcheff, he
thought that he might take advantage of the circumstance ;
but his sage scheme did not succeed. I was on the point of
scolding him for his misplaced zeal, but I could not restrain
myself from laughing.

" Laugh away, my lord," replied Savelitch : " laugh away ;
but when the time comes for you to procure a new outfit, we
shall see if you will laugh then."

I hastened to the priest's house to see Maria Ivanovna.
The priest's wife met me with sad news. During the night
Maria Ivanovna had been seized with a violent attack of
fever. She lay unconscious and in a delirium. The priest's
wife conducted me into her room. I softly approached her

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 95

bed. The change in her face startled me. She did not
recognize me. For a long time I stood beside her without
paying any heed either to Father Gerasim or to his good
wife, who endeavoured to console me. Gloomy thoughts
took possession of me. The condition of the poor defence-
less orphan, left alone in the midst of the lawless rebels, as
well as my own powerlessness, terrified me. But it was the
thought of Shvabrin more than anything else that filled my
imagination with alarm. Invested with power by the usurper,
and entrusted with the command of the fortress, in which
the unhappy girl — the innocent object of his hatred —
remained, he was capable of any villainous act. What was
I to do ? How should I help her ? How could I rescue her
out of the hands of the brigands? There remained only
one way. I resolved to set out immediately for Orenburg, in
order to hasten the deliverance of Bailogorsk, and, as far as
possible, to co-operate in the undertaking. I took leave of
the priest and of Akoulina Pamphilovna, recommending to
their care her whom I already considered as my wife. I
seized the hand of the poor girl and kissed it, bedewing it
with my tears.

" Farewell," said the pope's wife to me, accompanying me
to the door ; " farewell, Peter Andreitch. Perhaps we shall
see each other again in happier times. Do not forget us,
and write to us often. Poor Maria Ivanovna has nobody
now, except you, to console and protect her."

On reaching the square, I stopped for a moment and
looked at the gibbet, then, bowing my head before it, I
quitted the fortress and took the road to Orenburg, accom-
panied by Savelitch, who had not left my side.

I was walking on, occupied with my reflections, when
suddenly I heard behind me the trampling of horses' feet.
Looking round, I saw, galloping out of the fortress, a
Cossack, holding a Bashkir horse by the rein and making

96 poushkin's prose tales.

signs to me from afar. I stopped and soon recognized oui
orderly. Galloping up to us, he dismounted from his own
horse, and giving me the rein of the other, said :

** Your lordship ! our father sends you a horse, and a
pelisse from his own shoulders." (To the saddle was
attached a sheepskin pelisse.) " Moreover," continued the ;
orderly with some hesitation, " he sends you — haif-a- rouble
— ^but I have lost it on the road ; be generous and pardon ^
me."

Savelitch eyed him askance and growled out :

"You lost it on the road ! What is that chinking in your
pocket, then, you shameless rascal ! "

"What is that chinking in my pocket?" replied the
orderly, without being in the least confused. " God be with
you, old man ! It is a horse's bit, and not half-a-rouble." |

"Very well," said I, putting an end to the dispute.
" Give my thanks to him who sent you ; and as you go
back, try and find the lost half-rouble and keep it for drink-
money."

"Many thanks, your lordship," replied he, turning his
horse round ; " I will pray to God for you without ceasing."

With these words he galloped back again, holding one
hand to his pocket, and in about a minute he was hidden
from sight.

I put on the pelisse and mounted the horse, taking
Savelitch up behind me.

" Now do you see, my lord," said the old man, " that I
did not give the petition to the rascal in vain ? The robber
felt ashamed of himself. Although this lean-looking Bash-
kir jade and this sheepskin pelisse are not worth half of
what the rascals stole from us, and what you chose to give
him yourself, they may yet be of some use to us ; from a
vicious dog, even a tuft of hair."

97

CHAPTER X.

THE SIEGE.

ON approaching Orenburg, we saw a crowd of convicts,
with shaven heads, and with faces disfigured by the
hangman's pincers. They were at work on the fortifications,
under the direction of the soldiers of the garrison. Some
were carrying away in wheel -barrows the earth and refuse
which filled the moat, others with shovels were digging up
the ground; on the rampart the masons were carrying
stones and repairing the walls. The sentinels stopped us at
the gate and demanded our passports. As soon as the
ergeant heard that I came from Bailogorsk, he took me
straight to the General's house.

I found him in the garden. He was inspecting the apple-
trees, which the autumn winds had stripped of their leaves,
nd, with the help of an old gardener, was carefully covering
them with straw. His face expressed tranquillity, health,
md good-nature. He was much pleased to see me, and
began questioning me about the terrible events of which I
tiad been an eye-witness. I related everything to him.
The old man listened to me with attention, and continued
n the meantime to lop off the dry twigs.

** Poor Mironoff ! " said he, when I had finished my sad
itory; "I feel very sorry for him, he was a good officer;
d Madame Mironoff was a good woman, — how clever she
was at pickling mushrooms ! And what has become of Masha,
he Captain's daughter ? "

98 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

I replied that she was still at the fortress in the hands o1
the pope and his wife.

" That is bad, very bad. Nobody can place any depen-
dence upon the discipline of robbers. What will become oi
the poor girl?"

I replied that the fortress of Bailogorsk was not far off
and that, without doubt, his Excellency would not delay ir
sending thither a detachment of soldiers to deliver the pool
inhabitants.

The General shook his head dubiously.

*' We shall see, we shall see," said he, " we have plentj
of time to talk about that. Do me the pleasure of taking a
cup of tea with me : a council of war is to be held at mj
house this evening. You may be able to give us some
trustworthy information concerning this rascal Pougatchefi
and his army. And now go and rest yourself for a little
while."

I went to the quarter assigned to me, where Savelitcli
had already installed himself, and where I awaited with
impatience the appointed time. The reader will easilj
imagine that I did not fail to make my appearance at the
council which was to have such an influence upon my fate.
At the appointed hour I repaired to the General's house.

I found with him one of the civil officials of the town,
the director of the custom-house, if I remember rightly, a
stout, red-faced old man in a silk coat. He began tc
question me about the fate of Ivan Kouzmitch, whom he
called his gossip, and frequently interrupted my discourse
with additional questions and moral observations, which, ii
they did not prove him to be a man well versed in military
matters, showed at least that he possessed sagacity and
common sense. In the meantime the other persons who
had been invited to the council had assembled. When
they were all seated, and a cup of tea had been handed

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 99

round to each, the General entered into a clear and detailed
account of the business in question.

"And now, gentlemen," continued he, "we must decide
in what way we are to act against the rebels : offensively or
defensively? Each of these methods has its advantages
and disadvantages. Offensive warfare holds out a greater
prospect of a quicker extermination of the enemy ; defen-
sive action is safer and less dangerous. . . . Therefore let
us commence by putting the question to the vote in legal
order, that is, beginning with the youngest in rank. En-
sign," continued he, turning to me, "will you please favour
us with your opinion ? "

I rose, and after having described, in a few words, Pou-
gatcheff and his followers, I expressed my firm opinion that
the usurper was not in a position to withstand disciplined
troops.

My opinion was received by the civil officials with evident
dissatisfaction. They saw in it only the rashness and temerity
of a young man. There arose a murmur, and I distinctly
heard the word "greenhorn" pronounced in a whisper. The
General turned to me and said with a smile :

"Ensign, the first voices in councils of war are generally
in favour of adopting offensive measures. We will now
continue and hear what others have to say. Mr. Coun-
sellor of the College, tell us your opinion."

The little old man in the silk coat hastily swallowed his
:hird cup of tea, into which he had poured some rum, and
;hen replied :

" I think, your Excellency, that we ought to act neither
ffensively nor defensively."

" How, Sir Counsellor?" replied the astonished General.
Tactics present no other methods of action ; offensive
ction or defensive. . . ."

" Your Excellency, act diplomatically.*

n

loo poushkin's prose tales.

" Ah ! your idea is a very sensible one. Diplomatic
action is allowed by the laws of tactics, and we will profit by
your advice. We might offer for the head of the rascal . . .
seventy or even a hundred roubles . . . out of the secret
funds. . . ."

"And then," interrupted the Director of the Customs,
"may I become a Kirghis ram, and not a College Counsellor,
if these robbers do not deliver up to us their leader, bound
hand and foot."

" We will think about it, and speak of it again," replied
the General. " But, in any case, we must take military !
precautions. Gentlemen, give your votes in regular order.** j

The opinions of all were contrary to mine. All the civil
officials expatiated upon the untrustworthiness of the troops,
the uncertainty of success, the necessity of being cautious,
and the like. All agreed that it was more prudent to
remain behind the stone walls of the fortress under the i
protection of the cannon, than to try the fortune of arms in
the open field. At length the General, having heard all
their opinions, shook the ashes from his pipe and spoke as
follows :

" Gentlemen, I must declare to you that, for my part, I
am entirely of the same opinion as the ensign ; because this
opinion is founded upon sound rules of tactics, which nearly
always give the preference to offensive action rather than to
defensive."

Then he paused and began to fill his pipe. My vanity
triumphed. I cast a proud glance at the civil officials, who
were whispering among themselves with looks of displeasure
and uneasiness. w

"But, gentlemen," continued the General, heaving a deep
sigh, and emitting at the same time a thick cloud of tobacco
smoke, "I dare not take upon myself such a great responsi-
bility, when it is a question of the safety of the provinces

THE captain's DAUGHTER. lO'

confided to me by Her Imperial Majesty; my Most Gracioiis
Sovereign. Therefore it is that I fall in With the view's ot
the majority, who have decided that it is safer and more
prudent to await the siege inside the town, and to repel the
attack of the enemy by the use of artillery and — if possible
— by sallies."

The officials in their turn now glanced at me ironically.
The council separated. I could not but deplore the weak-
ness of this estimable soldier, who, contrary to his own
conviction, resolved to follow the advice of ignorant and
inexperienced persons.

Some days after this memorable council we heard that
Pougatcheff, faithful to his promise, was marching on Oren-
burg. From the lofty walls of the town I observed the army
of the rebels. It seemed to me that their numbers had
increased since the last assault, of which I had been a
witness. They had with them also some pieces of artillery
which had been taken by Pougatcheff from the small
fortresses that had been conquered by him. Remembering
the decision of the council, I foresaw a long incarceration
within the walls of Orenburg, and I was almost ready to
weep with vexation.

I do not intend to describe the siege of Orenburg, which
belongs to history and not to family memoirs. I will merely
observe that this siege, through want of caution on the part
of the local authorities, was a disastrous one for the inhabi-
tants, who had to endure hunger and every possible priva-
tion. It can easily be imagined that life in Orenburg was
almost unbearable. All awaited in melancholy anxiety the
decision of fate ; all complained of the famine, which was
really terrible. The inhabitants became accustomed to the
cannon-balls falling upon their houses ; even Pougatcheff's
assaults no longer produced any excitement. I was dying
of ennui. Time wore on. I received no letters from

I02 PGUSHKIN'S prose TALES.

Bailogorsk; All the roads were cut off. Separation from
Maria Ivanovna became insupportable to me. Uncertainty
with respect to her fate tortured me. My only diversion
consisted in making excursions outside the city. Thanks
to the kindness of Pougatcheff, I had a good horse, with
which I shared my scanty allowance of food, and upon
whose back I used to ride out daily beyond the walls and
open fire upon Pougatcheff 's partisans. In these skirmishes
the advantage was generally on the side of the rebels, who
had plenty to eat and drink, and possessed good horses.
Our miserable cavalry were unable to cope with them.
Sometimes our famished infantry made a sally ; but the
depth of the snow prevented their operations being success-
ful against the flying cavalry of the enemy. The artillery
thundered in vain from the summit of the ramparts, and
had it been in the field, it could not have advanced on
account of our emaciated horses. Such was our style of
warfare ! And this was what the civil officials of Orenburg
called prudence and foresight !

One day, when we had succeeded in dispersing and
driving off a tolerably large body of the enemy, I came up
with a Cossack who had remained behind his companions,
and I was just about to strike him with my Turkish sabre,
when he suddenly took off his cap and cried out :

" Good day, Peter Andreitch ; how do you do ? "

I looked at him and recognized our orderly. I cannot
say how delighted I was to see him.

" Good day, Maximitch," said I to him. " How long is
it since you left Bailogorsk ? "

" Not long, Peter Andreitch ; I only returned from there
yesterday. I have a letter for you."

"Where is it?" cried I, perfectly beside myself with
excitement.

"I have it here," replied Maximitch, placing his hand

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. I03

upon his bosom. " I promised Palasha that I would give
it to you somehow."

He then gave me a folded paper and immediately galloped
off. I opened it and, deeply agitated, read the following
lines :

" It has pleased God to deprive me suddenly of both
father and mother : I have now on earth neither a relation
nor a protector. I therefore turn to you, because I know
that you have always wished me well, and that you are ever
ready to help others. I pray to God that this letter may
reach you in some way ! Maximitch has promised to give
it to you. Palasha has also heard from Maximitch that he
has frequently seen you from a distance in the sorties, and
that you do not take the least care of yourself, not thinking
about those who pray to God for you in tears. I was ill a
long time, and, when I recovered, Alexei Ivanovitch, who
commands here in place of my deceased father, compelled
Father Gerasim to deliver me up to him, threatening him
with Pougatcheff's anger if he refused. I live in our house
which is guarded by a sentry. Alexei Ivanovitch wants to
compel me to marry him. He says that he saved my hfe
because he did not reveal the deception practised by Akou-
lina Pamphilovna, who told the rebels that I was her niece.
But I would rather die than become the wife of such a man
as Alexei Ivanovitch. He treats me very cruelly, and
threatens that if I do not change my mind and agree to his
proposal, he will conduct me to the rebels' camp, where I
shall suffer the same fate as Elizabeth Kharloff.^ I have
begged Alexei Ivanovitch to give me time to reflect. He
has consented to give me three days longer, and if at the
end of that time I do not agree to become his wife, he will

^ A Commandant's daughter, whom Pougatcheff outraged and then
put to death.

I04 poushkin's prose tales.

show me no further mercy. Oh, Peter Andreitch ! you are
my only protector ; save a poor helpless girl ! Implore the
General and all the commanders to send us help as soon as
possible, and come yourself if you can.

" I remain your poor obedient orphan,

" Maria Mironoff."

The reading of this letter almost drove me out of my
mind. I galloped back to the town, spurring my poor
horse without mercy. On the way I turned over in my
mind one plan and another for the rescue of the poor
girl, but I could not come to any definite conclusion.
On reaching the town I immediately repaired to the
General's, and presented myself before him without the least
delay.

He was walking up and down the room, smoking his
meerschaum pipe. On seeing me he stopped. Probably
he was struck by my appearance, for he anxiously inquired
the reason of my hasty visit.

"Your Excellency," said I to him, **I come to you as I
would to my own father : for Heaven's sake, do not refuse
my request; the happiness of my whole life depends
upon it I "

"What is the matter?" asked the astonished old soldier.
" What can I do for you ? Speak ! "

" Your Excellency, allow me to take a battalion of soldiers
and a company of Cossacks to recapture the fortress of
Bailogorsk."

The General looked at me earnestly, imagining, with-
out doubt, that I had taken leave of my senses — and, for
the matter of that, he was not very far out in his supposi-
tion.

" How ? — what ? Recapture the fortress of Bailogorsk ? "
said he at last.

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. TO5

"I will answer for the success of the undertaking," I
replied with ardour ; " only let me go."

" No, young man," said he, shaking his head. " At such
a great distance the enemy would easily cut off your com-
munication with the principal strategical point, and gain a
complete victory over you. Communication being cut
off. . . ."

I became alarmed when I perceived that he was about
to enter upon a military dissertation, and I hastened to
interrupt him.

"The daughter of Captain Mironoff has written a letter
to me," I said to him ; " she asks for help : Shvabrin wants
to compel her to become his wife."

" Indeed ! Oh, this Shvabrin is a great rascal, and if he
should fall into my hands I will order him to be tried
within twenty-four hours, and we will have him shot on the
parapet of the fortress. But in the meantime we must have
patience."

** Have patience ! " I cried, perfectly beside myself.
"But in the meantime he will force Maria Ivanovna to
become his wife ! "

" Oh ! " exclaimed the General. " But even that would be
no great misfortune for her. It would be better for her to
become the wife of Shvabrin, he would then take her under
his protection ; and when we have shot him we will soon
find a sweetheart for her, please God. Pretty widows do
not remain single long ; I mean that a widow finds a
husband much quicker than a spinster."

" I would rather die," said I in a passion, " than resign
her to Shvabrin."

" Oh, oh ! " said the old man, ** now I understand. You
are evidently in love with Maria Ivanovna, and that alters
the case altogether. Poor fellow ! But, for all that, I
cannot give you a battalion of soldiers and fifty Cossacks.

io6 poushkin's prose tales.

Such an expedition would be the height of folly, and I
cannot take the responsibility of it upon myself."

I cast down my head; despair took possession of me.
Suddenly a thought flashed through my mind : what it was,
the reader will discover in the following chapter, as the old
romance writers used to say.

IC7

CHAPTER XI.

THE REBEL ENCAMPMENT.

I LEFT the General and hastened to my own quarters.
Savelitch received me with his usual admonitions.

" What pleasure do you find, my lord, in fighting against
drunken robbers ? Is that the kind of occupation for a
nobleman ? All hours are not alike, and you will sacrifice
your life for nothing. It would be all well and good if you
were fighting against the Turks or the Swedes, but it is a
shame to mention the name of the enemy that you are
dealing with now."

I interrupted him in his speech by the question :

" How much money have I left ? "

**You have a tolerably good sum still left," he replied,
with a look of satisfaction. " In spite of their searching
and rummaging, I succeeded in hiding it from the robbers."

So saying, he drew from his pocket a long knitted purse,
filled with silver pieces.

" Well, Savelitch," said I to him, " give me half of what
you have, and keep the rest yourself. I am going to
Fortress Bailogorsk."

" My Httle father, Peter Andreitch ! " said my good old
servant in a trembling voice ; " do not tempt God ! How
can you travel at the present time, when none of the roads
are free from the robbers? Have compassion upon your
parents, if you have no pity for yourself. Where do you
want to go? And why? Wait a little while. The troops

I08 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

will soon be here and will quickly make short work of the
robbers. Then you may go in whatever direction you like."

But my resolution was not to be shaken.

" It is too late to reflect," I said to the old man. " I
must go, I cannot do otherwise than go. Do not grieve,
Savelitch : God is merciful, perhaps we may see each other
again. Have no scruples about spending the money, and
don't be sparing of it. Buy whatever you require, even
though' you have to pay three times the value of it. I give
this money to you. If in three days I do not return "

** What are you talking about, my lord ? " said Savelitch,
interrupting me. " Do you think that I could let you go
alone ? Do not imagine anything of the kind. If you have
resolved to go, I will accompany you, even though it be on
foot ; I will not leave you. The idea of my sitting down
behind a stone wall without you ! Do you think then that
I have gone out of my mind ? Do as you please, my lord,
but I will not leave you."

I knew that it was useless to dispute with Savelitch, and
I allowed him to prepare for the journey. In half an hour
I was seated upon the back of my good horse, while Save-
litch was mounted upon a lean and limping jade, which one
of the inhabitants of the town had given to him for nothing,
not having the means to keep it any longer. We reached
the gates of the town ; the sentinels allowed us to pass, and
we left Orenburg behind us.

It was beginning to grow dark. My road led past the
village of Berd, one of Pougatcheff's haunts. The way was
covered with snow, but over the whole of the steppe could
be seen the footprints of horses, renewed every day. I rode
forward at a quick trot. Savelitch could hardly keep pace
with me, and kept calling out :

" Not so fast, my lord, for Heaven's sake, not so fast ! My
accursed hack cannot keep up with your long-legged devil.

THE CAPTAIN S DAUGHTER. lOQ

Where are you off to in such a hurry? It would be all very
well if we were going to a feast, but we are more likely going
to run our heads into a noose. . . . Peter Andreitch . . .
little father . . . Peter Andreitch ! Lord God ! the child
is rushing to destruction ! "

We soon caught sight of the fires of Berd glimmering in
the distance. We approached some ravines, which served
as natural defences to the hamlet. Savelitch still followed
me, and did not cease to utter his plaintive entreaties. I
hoped to be able to ride round the village without being
observed, when suddenly I perceived through the darkness,
straight in- front of me, five peasants armed with clubs ; it
was the advanced guard of Pougatcheff' s camp. They
challenged us. Not knowing the password, I wanted to
ride on without saying anything; but they immediately
surrounded me, and one of them seized hold of my horse's
bridle. I drew my sword and struck the peasant on the
head. His cap saved him, but he staggered and let the
reins fall from his hand. The others grew frightened and
took to their heels; I seized the opportunity, and, setting
spurs to my horse, I galloped oif.

The increasing darkness of the night might have saved
me from further dangers, but, turning round all at once, I
perceived that Savelitch was no longer with me. The pooi
old man, with his lame horse, had not been able to get
clear of the robbers. What was to be done ? After waiting a
few minutes for him, and feeling convinced that he had been
stopped, I turned my horse round to hasten to his assistance.

Approaching the ravine, I heard in the distance confused
cries, and the voice of my Savelitch. I quickened my pace,
and soon found myself in the midst of the peasants who had
stopped me a few minutes before. Savelitch was among
them. With loud shouts they threw themselves upon me
and dragged me from my horse in a twinkling. One of

'

no POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

them, apparently the leader of the band, informed us that
he was going to conduct us immediately before the Czar.
"And our father," added he, "will decide whether you shall
be hanged immediately or wait till daylight."

I offered no resistance ; SaveUtch followed my example,
and the sentinels led us away in triumph.

We crossed the ravine and entered the village. In all the
huts fires were burning. Noise and shouts resounded on
every side. In the streets I met a large number of people ;
but nobody observed us in the darkness, and no one re-
cognized in me an officer from Orenburg. We were con-
ducted straight to a cottage which stood at the corner where
two streets met. Before the door stood several wine-casks
and two pieces of artillery.

"This is the palace," said one of the peasants; "we will 1
announce you at once."

He entered the cottage. I glanced at Savelitch : the old
man was making the sign of the cross and muttering his
prayers to himself,

I waited a long time; at last the peasant returned and
said to me :

" Come inside ; our father has given orders for the officer
to be brought before him."

I entered the cottage, or the palace, as the peasants called
it. It was lighted by two tallow candles, and the walls were
covered with gilt paper ; otherwise, the benches, the table,
the little wash-hand basin suspended by a cord, the towel
hanging on a nail, the oven-fork in the corner, the. broad
shelf loaded with pots — everything was the same as in an j
ordinary cottage. Pougatcheff was seated under the holy ]
picture,^ dressed in a red caftan and wearing a tall cap, and i

^ The picture of some saint, usually painted on wood. There is
generally one of them hung in the corner of every room in the houses of
the Russians.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. Ill

with his arms set akimbo in a very self-important manner.
Around him stood several of his principal followers, with
looks of feigned respect and submission upon their faces.
It was evident that the news of the arrival of an officer from
Orenburg had awakened a great curiosity among the rebels,
and that they had prepared to receive me with as much
pomp as possible. PougatchefT recognized me at the first
glance. His assumed importance vanished all at once.

" Ah ! your lordship ! " said he gaily. " How do you do ?
What, in Heaven's name, has brought you here ? "

I replied that I was travelling on my own business, and
that his people had stopped me.

"What business?" asked he.

I knew not what to reply. Pougatcheff, supposing that I
Idid not like to explain in the presence of witnesses, turned
to his companions and ordered them to go out of the room.
All obeyed, except two, who did not stir from their places.

"Speak boldly before them," said Pougatcheff, "I do not
bide anything from them."

I glanced stealthily at the impostor's confidants. One of
^hem, a weazen-faced, crooked old man, with a short grey
peard, had nothing remarkable about him except a blue
•iband, which he wore across his grey tunic. But never
ihall I forget his companion. He was a tall, powerful,
)road-shouldered man, and seemed to me to be about forty-
ive years of age. A thick red beard, grey piercing eyes, a
lose without nostrils, and reddish scars upon his forehead
nd cheeks, gave to his broad, pock-marked face an in-
describable expression. He had on a red shirt, a Kirghis
obe, and Cossack trousers. The first, as I learned after-
ards, was the runaway corporal Bailoborodoff ; the other,
fanassy Sokoloff, surnamed Khlopousha,^ a condemned

^ The name of a celebrated bandit of the last century, who for a long
me offered resistance to the Imperial troops.

112 poushkin's prose tales.

criminal, who had three times escaped from the mines of
Siberia. In spite of the feelings of agitation which so ex-
clusively occupied my mind at that time, the society in the
midst of which I so unexpectedly found myself awakened
my curiosity in a powerful degree. But Pougatcheff soon
recalled me to myself by his question :

" Speak ! on what business did you leave Orenburg ? "

A strange thought came into my head : it seemed to me
that Providence, by conducting me a second time into the
presence of Pougatcheff, gave me the opportunity of carrying
my project into execution. I determined to take advantage
of it, and, without any further reflection, I replied to Pougat-
cheff's question :

" I was going to the fortress of Bailogorsk to rescue an
orphan who is oppressed there."

Pougatcheff's eyes sparkled.

"Which of my people dares to oppress the orphan?*'
cried he. " Were he seven feet high he should not escape
my judgment. Speak ! who is the culprit?"

"Shvabrin is the culprit," replied I. "He holds captive
the young girl whom you saw ill at the priest's house, and
wants to force her to marry him."

" I will soon put Shvabrin in his right place," said Pougat-
cheff fiercely. "He shall learn what it is to oppress my
people according to his own will and pleasure. I will have
him hanged."

" Allow me to speak a word," said Khlopousha in a hoarse
voice. " You were in too great a hurry in appointing Shva-
brin to the command of the fortress, and now you are in too
great a hurry to hang him. You have already offended the
Cossacks by placing a nobleman over them as their chief;
do not now alarm the nobles by hanging them at the first
accusation."

" They ought neither to be pitied nor favoured," said the

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. II3

little old man with the blue riband. " To hang Shvabrin
would be no great misfortune, neither would it be amiss to put
this officer through a regular course of questions. Why has
he deigned to pay us a visit ? If he does not recognize you
as Czar, he cannot come to seek justice from you ; and if he
does recognize you, why has he remained up to the present
time in Orenburg along with your enemies ? Will you not
order him to be conducted to the court-house, and have a
fire lit there ? ^ It seems to me that his Grace is sent to us
from the generals in Orenburg."

The logic of the old rascal seemed to me to be plausible
enough. A shudder passed through the whole of my body,
when I thought into whose hands I had fallen. Pougatcheff
observed my agitation.

** Well, your lordship," said he to me, winking his eyes ;
**my Field-Marshal, it seems to me, speaks to the point.
What do you think ? "

Pougatcheff 's raillery restored my courage. I calnsly
replied that I was in his power, and that he could deal with
me in whatever way he pleased.

" Good," said Pougatcheff. " Now tell me, in what con-
dition is your town ? "

" Thank God ! " I replied, " everything is all right."

*' All right ! " repeated Pougatcheff, " and the people are
dying of hunger ! "

The impostor spoke the truth; but in accordance with
the duty imposed upon me by my oath, I assured him that
what he had heard were only idle reports, and that in Oreur
burg there was a sufficiency of all kinds of provisions.

" You see," observed the little old man, " that he deceives
you to your face. All the deserters unanimously declare
that famine and sickness are rife in Orenburg, that they

* For the purpose of torture.

114 poushkin's prose tales.

are eating carrion there and think themselves fortunate to
get it to eatj and yet his Grace assures us that there is
plenty of everything there. If you wish to hang Shvabrin,
then hang this young fellow on the same gallows, that they
may have nothing to reproach each other with."

The words of the accursed old man seemed to produce
an effect upon Pougatcheff. Fortunately, Khlopousha began
to contradict his companion.

" That will do, Naoumitch," said he to him : " you only
think of strangling and hanging. What sort of a hero are
you ? To look at you, one is puzzled to imagine how your
body and soul contrive to hang together. You have one
foot in the grave yourself, and you want to kill others.
Haven't you enough blood on your conscience ? "

" And what sort of a saint are you ? " replied Bailoboro-
doff. " Whence this compassion on your side ? "

"Without doubt," replied Khlopousha, "I also am a
sinner, and this hand" — here he clenched his bony fist
and, pushing back his sleeve, disclosed his hairy arm — " and
this hand is guilty of having shed Christian blood. But I
killed my enemy, and not my guest ; on the open highway
or in a dark wood, and not in the house, sitting behind the
stove; with the axe and club, and not with old woman's
chatter."

The old man turned round and muttered the words :
** Slit nostrils!"

"What are you muttering, you old greybeard?" cried
Khlopousha. " I will give you slit nostrils. Just wait a
little, and your turn will come too. Heaven grant that your
nose may smell the pincers. . . In the meantime, take
care that I don't pull out your ugly beard by the roots."

"Gentlemen, generals!" said Pougatcheff loftily, "there
has been enough of this quarrelling between you. It would
be no great misfortune if all the Orenburg dogs were hang-

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. II5

ing by the heels from the same crossbeam ; but it would be
a very great misfortune if our own dogs were to begin
devouring each other. So now make it up and be friends
again."

Khlopousha and Bailoborodoff said not a word, but glared
furiously at each other. I felt the necessity of changing the
subject of a conversation which might end in a very dis-
agreeable manner for me, and turning to Pougatcheff, I said
to him with a cheerful look :

*' Ah ! I had almost forgotten to thank you for the horse
and pelisse. Without you I should never have reached the
town, and I should have been frozen to death on the road."

My stratagem succeeded. Pougatcheff became good-
humoured again.

" The payment ol a debt is its beauty," said he, winking
his eyes. " And now tell me, what have you to do with this
young girl whom Shvabrin persecutes ? Has she kindled a
flame in your young heart, eh ? "

" She is my betrothed," I replied, observing a favourable
change in the storm, and not deeming it necessary to con-
ceal the truth.

''Your betrothed!" exclaimed Pougatcheff. *VWhy did
you not say so before ? We will marry you, then, and have
some merriment at your wedding ! "

Then turning to Bailoborodoff:

*' Listen, Field-Marshal !" said he to him: "his lordship
and I are old friends ; let us sit down to supper ; morning's
udgment is wiser than that of evening — so we will see
to-morrow what is to be done with him."

I would gladly have declined the proposed honour, but

there was no help for it. Two young Cossack girls, daughters

f the owner of the cottage, covered the table with a white

loth, and brought in some bread, fish-soup, and several

ottles of wine and beer, and for the second time I found

I

Il6 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

myself seated at the same table with Pougatcheff and his
terrible companions.

The drunken revel, of which I was an involuntary witness,
continued till late into the night. At last, intoxication began
to overcome the three associates. Pougatcheff fell off to
sleep where he was sitting : his companions rose and made
signs to me to leave him where he was. I went out with
them. By order of Khlopousha, the sentinel conducted me
to the justice-room, where I found Savelitch, and where
they left me shut up with him. My servant was so astonished
at all he saw and heard, that he could not ask me a single
question. He lay down in the dark, and continued to sigh
and moan for a long time ; but at length he began to snore,
and I gave myself up to meditations, which hindered me
from obtaining sleep for a single minute during the whole
of the night.

The next morning, Pougatcheff gave orders for me to be
brought before him. I went to him. In front of his door
stood a kibitka^ with three Tartar horses harnessed to it.
The crowd filled the street. I encountered Pougatcheff in
the hall. He was dressed for a journey, being attired in a
fur cloak and a Kirghis cap. His companions of the night
before stood around him, exhibiting an appearance of sub- ,
mission, which contrasted strongly with everything that I
had witnessed the previous evening. Pougatcheff saluted
me in a cheerful tone, and ordered me to sit down beside
him in the kibitka.

We took our seats.

" To the fortress of Bailogorsk ! " said Pougatcheff to the
broad-shouldered Tartar who drove the vehicle. My heart
beat violently. The horses broke into a gallop, the little
bell tinkled, and the kibitka flew over the snow.

" Stop ! stop ! ** cried a voice which I knew only too well,
and I saw Savelitch running towards us.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. II7

Pougatcheff ordered the driver to stop.

" Little father, Peter Andreitch ! " cried my servant ; " do
not leave me in my old age among these scoun "

" Ah, old greybeard ! " said Pougatcheff to him. " It is
God's will that we should meet again. Well, spring up behind."

*' Thanks, Czar, thanks, my own father ! " replied Save-
litch, taking his seat. " May God give you a hundred years
of life and good health for deigning to cast your eyes upon
and console an old man. I will pray to God for you all the
days of my life, and I will never again speak about the hare-
skin pelisse."

This allusion to the hareskin pelisse might have made
Pougatcheff seriously angry. Fortunately, the usurper did
not hear, or pretended not to hear, the misplaced remark.
The horses again broke into a gallop; the people in the
streets stood still and made obeisance. Pougatcheff bowed
his head from side to side. In about a minute we had left
the village behind us and were flying along over the smooth
surface of the road.

One can easily imagine what my feelings were at that
moment. In a few hours I should again set eyes upon her
whom I had already considered as lost to me for ever. I
pictured to myself the moment of our meeting. ... I
thought also of the man in whose hands lay my fate, and
who, by a strange concourse of circumstances, had become
mysteriously connected with me. I remembered the thought-
less cruelty and the bloodthirsty habits of him, who now
constituted himself the deliverer of my beloved. Pougat-
cheff did not know that she was the daughter of Captain
Mironoff ; the exasperated Shvabrin might reveal everything
to him ; it was also possible that Pougatcheff might find out
the truth in some other way. . . . Then what would become
of Maria Ivanovna ? A shudder passed through my frame,
and my hair stood on end.

Il8 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

Suddenly Pougatcheff interrupted my meditations, by
turning to me with the question :

"What is your lordship thinking of?"

"What should I not be thinking of," I replied. *'I am
an officer and a gentleman; only yesterday I was fighting
against you, and now to-day I am riding side by side with
you in the same carriage, and the happiness of my whole life
depends upon you."

" How so ? " asked Pougatcheff. " Are you afraid ? "

I replied that, having already had my life spared by him,
I hoped, not only for his mercy, but even for his assistance.

" And you are right ; by God, you are right ! " said the
impostor. "You saw that my fellows looked askant at
you ; and this morning the old man persisted in his state-
ment that you were a spy, and that it was necessary that
you should be interrogated by means of torture and then
hanged. But I would not consent to it," he added, lower-
ing his voice, so that Savelitch and the Tartar should not
be able to hear him, "because I remembered your glass
of wine and hareskin pelisse. You see now that I am
not such a bloodthirsty creatuie as your brethren main-
tain."

I recalled to mind the capture of the fortress of Bailogorsk
but I did not think it advisable to contradict him, and so I
made no reply.

" What do they say of me in Orenburg ? " asked Pougat ,
cheff, after a short interval of silence.

"They say that it will be no easy matter to get the upper
hand of you ; and there is no denying that you have made
yourself felt."

The face of the impostor betokened how much his vanity
was gratified by this remark.

" Yes," said he, with a look of self-satisfaction, " I wage
war to some purpose. Do you people in Orenburg know

THE captain's DAUGHTER. II9

about the battle of Youzeiff ? ^ Forty general officers killed,
four armies taken captive. Do you think the King of
Prussia could do as well as that ? "

The boasting of the brigand appeared to me to be some-
what amusing.

"What do you think about it yourself?" I said to him:
*' do you think that you could beat Frederick ? "

" Fedor Fedorovitch ? ^ And why not ? I beat your
generals, and they have beaten him. My arms have always
been successful up till now. But only wait awhile, you will
see something very different when I march to Moscow."

^'And do you intend marching to Moscow?"

The impostor reflected for a moment and then said in a
low voice :

" God knows. My road is narrow ; my will is weak. My
followers do not obey me. They are scoundrels. I must
keep a sharp look-out ; at the first reverse they will save
their own necks at the expense of my head."

"That is quite true," I said to Pougatcheff. "Would it
not be better for you to separate yourself from them in
good time, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the
Empress ? " ,

Pougatcheff smiled bitterly.

" No," replied he : " it is too late for me to repent now.
There would be no pardon for me. I will go on as I have
begun. Who knows? Perhaps I shall be successful.
Grishka Otrepieff was made Czar at Moscow."

"And do you know what his end was? He was flung
out of a window, his body was cut to pieces and burnt, and
then his ashes were placed in a cannon and scattered to the
winds ! "

*' Listen," said Pougatcheff with a certain wild inspiration.

^ An engagement in which Pougatcheff had the advantage.

^ The name given to Frederick the Great by the Russian soldiers,

120 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" I will tell you a tale which was told to me in my childhood
by an old Calmuck. ' The eagle once said to the crow :
" Tell me, crow, why is it that you live in this bright world
for three hundred years, and I only for thirty-three years ? "
— " Because, Httle father," replied the crow, " you drink live
blood, and I live on carrion." — The eagle reflected for a
little while and then said : " Let us both try and live on the
same food." — " Good ! agreed ! " The eagle and the crow
flew away. Suddenly they caught sight of a fallen horse,
and they alighted upon it. The crow began to pick its
flesh and found it very good. The eagle tasted it once,
then a second time, then shook its pinions and said to the
crow : " No, brother crow ; rather than live on carrion for
three hundred years, I would prefer to drink live blood but
once, and trust in God for what might happen afterwards ! " *
What do you think of the Calmuck's story ? "

" It is very ingenious," I replied. " But to live by murder
and robbery is, in my opinion, nothing else than living on
carrion."

Pougatcheff" looked at me in astonishment and made no
reply. We both became silent, each being wrapped in his
own thoughts. The Tartar began to hum a plaintive song.
Savelitch, dozing, swayed from side to side. The kibitka
glided along rapidly over the smooth frozen road. . . . Sud-
denly I caught sight of a little village on the steep bank of
the Yaik, with its palisade and belfry, and about a quarter of
an hour afterwards we entered the fortress of Bailogorsk.

121

CHAPTER XII.

THE ORPHAN.

THE kibitka drew up in front of the Commandant's
house. The inhabitants had recognized Pougatcheff's
little bell, and came crowding around us. ' Shvabrin met the
impostor at the foot of the steps. He was dressed as a
Cossack, and had allowed his beard to grow. The traitor
helped Pougatcheff to alight from the kibitka^ expressing, in
obsequious terms, his joy and zeal. On seeing me, he
became confused; but quickly recovering himself, he
stretched out his hand to me, saying :

" And are you also one of us ? You should have been so
long ago ! "

I turned away from him and made no reply.

My heart ached when we entered the well-known room,
on the wall of which still hung the commission of the late
Commandant, as a mournful epitaph of the past. Pougat-
cheff seated himself upon the same sofa on which Ivan
Kouzmitch was accustomed to fall asleep, lulled by the
scolding of his wife. Shvabrin himself brought him some
brandy. Pougatcheff drank a glass, and said to him,
pointing to me :

" Give his lordship a glass."

Shvabrin approached me with his tray, but I turned away
from him a second time. He seemed to have become quite
another person. With his usual sagacity, he had certainly
perceived that Pougatcheff was dissatisfied with him.

122 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

He cowered before him, and glanced at me with dis-
trust.

Pougatcheff asked some questions concerning the condi-
tion of the fortress, the reports referring to the enemy's
army, and the Uke. Then suddenly and unexpectedly he
said to him :

" Tell me, my friend, who is this young girl that you hold
a prisoner here ? Show her to me."

Shvabrin turned as pale as death.

" Czar," said he, in a trembling voice ..." Czar, she is
not a prisoner . . . she is ill . . . she is in bed."

" Lead me to "her," said the impostor, rising from his
seat.

Refusal was impossible. Shvabrin conducted Pougatcheff
to Maria Ivanovna's room. I followed behind them.

Shvabrin stopped upon the stairs.

" Czar," said he : " you may demand of me whatever you
please; but do not permit a stranger to enter my wife's
bedroom."

I shuddered.

" So you are married ! " I said to Shvabrin, ready to tear
him to pieces.

"Silence!" interrupted Pougatcheff: "that is my busi-
ness. And you," he continued, turning to Shvabrin, " keep
your airs and graces to yourself: whether she be your wife
or whether she be not, I will take to her whomsoever I
please. Your lordship, follow me."

At the door of the room Shvabrin stopped again, and
said in a faltering voice :

" Czar, I must inform you that she is in a high fever, and
has been raving incessantly for the last three days."

" Open the door ! " said Pougatcheff.

Shvabrin began to search in his pockets and then said
that he had not brought the key with him. Pougatcheff

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 1 23

pushed the door with his foot ; the lock gave way, the door
opened, and we entered.

I glanced round the room — and nearly fainted away.
On the floor, clad in a ragged peasant's dress, sat Maria
Ivanovna, pale, thin, and with dishevelled hair. Before her
stood a pitcher of water, covered with a piece of bread.
Seeing me, she shuddered and uttered a piercing cry. What
I felt at that moment I cannot describe.

Pougatcheff looked at Shvabrin and aaid with a sarcastic
smile :

"You have a very nice hospital here ! "

Then approaching Maria Ivanovna :

" Tell me, my little dove, why does your husband punish
you in this manner?"

" My husband !" repeated she. " He is not my husband.
I will never be his wife ! I would rather die, and I will die,
if I am not set free."

Pougatcheff cast a threatening glance at Shvabrin.

*' And you have dared to deceive me ! " he said to him.
" Do you know, scoundrel, what you deserve ? "

Shvabrm fell upon his knees. ... At that moment con-
tempt extinguished within me all feelings of hatred and
resentment. I looked with disgust at the sight of a noble-
pan grovelling at the feet of a runaway Cossack.

Pougatcheff relented.

" I forgive you this time," he said to Shvabrin : **but bear
n mind that the next time you are guilty of an offence, I
ill remember this one also."

Then he turned to Maria Ivanovna and said to her
dndly :

*' Go, my pretty girl ; I give you your liberty. I am the
zar."

Maria Ivanovna glanced rapidly at him, and intuitively
[ivined that before her stood the murderer of her parents,

1

124 poushkin's prose tales.

She covered her face with both hands and fainted away. 1
hastened towards her; but at that moment my old ac-
quaintance, Palasha, very boldly entered the room, and
began to attend to her young mistress. Pougatcheff quitted
the apartment, and we all three entered the parlour.

"Well, your lordship," said Pougatcheff smiling, **we
have set the pretty girl free ! What do you say to sending
for the pope and making him marry his niece to you ? If
you like, I will act as father, and Shvabrin shall be your best
man. We will then smoke and drink and make ourselves
merry to our hearts' content ! "

What I feared took place. Shvabrin, hearing Pougat-
cheff 's proposal, was beside himself with rage.

" Czar ! " he exclaimed, in a transport of passion, " I am
guilty ; I have lied to you ; but Grineff is deceiving you
also. This young girl is not the pope's niece : she is the
daughter of Ivan Mironoff, who was hanged at the taking of
the fortress."

Pougatcheff glanced at me with gleaming eyes.

** What does this mean ? " he asked in a gloomy tone.

"Shvabrin has told you the truth," I replied in a firm
voice.

" You did not tell me that," replied Pougatcheff, whose
face had become clouded.

** Judge of the matter yourself," I replied : " could I, in
the presence of your people, declare that she was the
daughter of Mironoff? They would have torn her to
pieces ! Nothing would have saved her ! "

" You are right," said Pougatcheff smiling. '* My drunkards
would not have spared the poor girl; the pope's wife did
well to deceive them."

" Listen," I continued, seeing him so well disposed ; ** I
know not what to call you, and I do not wish to know. . . .
3ut God is my witness that I would willingly repay you with

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. 1 25

my life for what you have done for me. But do not demand
of me anything that is against my honour and my Christian
conscience. You are my benefactor. End as you have
begun : let me go away with that poor orphan wherever
God will direct us. And wherever you may be, and what-
ever may happen to you, we will pray to God every day for
the salvation of your soul. . . ."

Pougatcheff's fierce soul seemed touched.
" Be it as you wish ! " said he. " Punish thoroughly or
pardon thoroughly : that is my way. Take your beautiful
one, take her wherever you like, and may God grant you
jlove and counsel !"

j Then he turned to Shvabrin and ordered him to give me
la safe conduct for all barriers and fortresses subjected to
his authority. Shvabrin, completely dumbfounded, stood
as if petrified. Pougatcheff then went off to inspect the
kbrtress. Shvabrin accompanied him, and I remained
behind under the pretext of making preparations for my
departure.

I hastened to Maria's room. The door was locked. I
nocked.
" Who is there ? " asked Palasha.

I called out my name. The sweet voice of Maria Ivan-
>vna sounded from behind the door :

"Wait a moment, Peter Andreitch. I am changing my
Iress. Go to Akoulina Pamphilovna; I shall be there
resently.*'

I obeyed and made my way to the house of Father
Jerasim. He and his wife came forward to meet me.
avelitch had already informed them of what had happened.
"You are welcome, Peter Andreitch," said the pope's
fe. " God has ordained that we should meet again.
nd how are you ? Not a day has passed without our talk-
g about you. And Maria Ivanovna^ the poor little 4ove,

126 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

what has she not suffered while you have been away ! Bui
tell us, little father, how did you manage to arrange matters
with Pougatcheff ? How was it that he did not put you to
death ? The villain be thanked for that, at all events ! "

" Enough, old woman," interrupted Father Gerasim.
" Don't babble about everything that you know. There is \
no salvation for chatterers. Come in, Peter Andreitch, I
beg of you. It is a long, long time since we saw each other."

The pope's wife set before me everything that she had in
the house, without ceasing to chatter away for a single
moment. She related to me in what manner Shvabrin had
compelled them to deliver Maria Ivanovna up to him ; how
the poor girl wept and did not wish to be parted from them ; j
how she had kept up a constant communication with them
by means of Palashka^ (a bold girl who compelled the
orderly himself to dance to her pipe) ; how she had advised
Maria Ivanovna to write a letter to me, and so forth.

I then, in my turn, briefly related to them my story. The
pope and his wife made the sign of the cross on hearing that |
Pougatcheff had become acquainted with their deception.

''The power of the Cross defend us !" ejaculated Akou-i
Una Pamphilovna. ** May God grant that the cloud will|
pass over. Well, well, Alexei Ivanitch, you are a very nicel
fellow : there is no denying that ! " I

At that moment the door opened, and Maria Ivanovnaf
entered the room with a smile upon her pale face. She had '
doffed her peasant's dress, and was attired as before, plainly
and becomingly.

I grasped her hand and for some time could not utter a'
single word. We were both silent from fulness of heart.
Our hosts felt that their presence was unnecessary to us,
and so they withdrew. We were left by ourselves. Every-

Piminutive of Palasha»

^

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 1 27

thing else was forgotten. We talked and talked and could
not say enough to each other. Maria related to me all that
had happened to her since the capture of the fortress ; she
described to me all the horror of her situation, all the trials
which she had experienced at the hands of the detestable
Shvabrin. We recalled to mind the happy days of the past,
and we could not prevent the tears coming into our eyes. At
last I began to explain to her my project. For her to remain in
the fortress, subjected to PougatchefT and commanded by
Shvabrin, was impossible. Neither could I think of taking
her to Orenburg, just then undergoing all the calamities of
a siege. She had not a single relative in the whole world.
I proposed to her that she should seek shelter with my
parents. She hesitated at first : my father's unfriendly dis-

rosition towards her frightened her. I made her mind easy
n that score. I knew that my father would consider him-
self bound in honour to receive into his house the daughter
of a brave and deserving soldier who had lost his life in the
service of his country.

" Dear Maria Ivanovna," I said at last : " I look upon
ou as my wife. Strange circumstances have united us to-
ether indissolubly ; nothing in the world can separate
s."

Maria Ivanovna Hstened to me without any assumption
f affectation. She felt that her fate was Hnked with mine.
But she repeated that she would never be my wife, except
vith the consent of my parents. I did not contradict her.
•Ve kissed each other fervently and passionately, and in this
nanner everything was resolved upon between us.

About an hour afterwards, the orderly brought me my safe
:onduct, inscribed with Pougatcheff's scrawl, and informed
ne that his master wished to see me. I found him ready to
et out on his road. I cannot describe what I felt on taking
eave of this terrible man, this outcast, so villainously cruel

128 poushkin's prose tales.

to all except myself alone. But why should I not tell the
truth? At that moment I felt drawn towards him by
a powerful sympathy. I ardently wished to tear him away
from the midst of the scoundrels, whom he commanded, and
save his head while there was yet time. Shvabrin, and the
crowd gathered around us, prevented me from giving ex-
pression to all that filled my heart.

We parted as friends. PougatchefF, catching sight of
Akoulina Pamphilovna among the crowd, threatened her
with his finger and winked significantly ; then he seated
himself in his kibitka^ and gave orders to return to Berd \
and when the horses started off, he leaned once out of the
carriage, and cried out to me : " Farewell, your lordship I
Perhaps we shall see each other again ! "

We did indeed see each other again, but under what cir-
cumstances !

Pougatcheff was gone. I stood for a long time gazing
across the white steppe, over which his troika ^ went gliding
rapidly. The crowd dispersed. Shvabrin disappeared. I
returned to the pope's house. Everything was ready for
our departure; I did not wish to delay any longer. Our
luggage had already been deposited in the Commandant's
old travelling carriage. The horses were harnessed in a
twinkling. Maria Ivanovna went to pay a farewell visit to
the graves of her parents, who were buried behind the
church. I wished to accompany her, but she begged of me to
let her go alone. After a few minutes she returned silently
weeping. The carriage was ready. Father Gerasim and
his wife came out upon the steps. Maria Ivanovna, Palasha
and I took our places inside the kibitka^ while Savelitch
seated himself in the front.

"Farewell, Maria Ivanovna, my little dove; farewell^

^ An open vehicle drawn by three horses yoked abreast.

THE CAPTAIN S DAUGHTER. 1 29

Peter Andreitch, my fine falcon ! " said the pope's good
wife. " A safe journey, and may God bless you both and
make you happy ! "

We drove off. At the window of the Commandant's
house I perceived Shvabrin standing. His face wore an
expression of gloomy malignity. I did not wish to triumph
over a defeated enemy, so I turned my eyes the other way.

At last we passed out of the gate, and left the fortress of
Bailogorsk behind us for ever.

.^*^

I30

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ARREST.

UNITED SO unexpectedly with the dear girl, about whom
I was so terribly uneasy that very morning, I could
scarcely believe the evidence of my senses, and imagined
that everything that had happened to me was nothing but
an empty dream. Maria Ivanovna gazed thoughtfully, now at
me, now at the road, and seemed as if she had not yet suc-
ceeded in recovering her senses. We were both silent.
Our hearts were too full of emotion. The time passed
almost imperceptibly, and after journeying for about two
hours, we reached the next fortress, which was also subject
to Pougatcheff. Here we changed horses. By the rapidity
with which this was effected, and by the obliging manner of
the bearded Cossack who had been appointed Commandant
by Pougatcheff, I perceived that, thanks to the gossip of our
driver, I was taken for a favourite of their master.

We continued our journey. It began to grow dark. We
approached a small town, where, according to the bearded
Commandant, there was a strong detachment on its way to
join the impostor. We were stopped by the sentries. In
answer to the challenge : " Who goes there ? " our driver
rejolied in a loud voice : " The Czar's friend with his little
wife."

Suddenly a troop of hussars surrounded us, uttering the
most terrible curses.

" Step down, friend of the devil ! " said a moustached

THE captain's DAUGHTER. I3I

sergeant-major. "We will make it warm for you and your
little wife ! "

I got out of the kibitka and requested to be brought
before their commander. On seeing my officer's uniform,
the soldiers ceased their imprecations, and the sergeant con-
ducted me to the major.

Savelitch followed me, muttering :

" So much for your being a friend of the Czar ! Out of
the frying-pan into the fire. Lord Almighty ! how is all this
going to end ? "

The kibitka followed behind us at a slow pace.

In about five minutes we arrived at a small, well-lighted
house. The sergeant-major left me under a guard and
entered to announce me. He returned immediately and
informed me that his Highness had no time to receive me,
but that he had ordered that I should be taken to prison,
and my wife conducted into his presence.

" What does this mean ? " I exclaimed in a rage. " Has
he taken leave of his senses ? "

*' I do not know, your lordship," replied the sergeant-
major. " Only his Highness has ordered that your
lordship should be taken to prison, and her ladyship
conducted into his presence, your lordship ! "

I dashed up the steps. The sentinel did not think of de-
taining me, and I made my way straight into the room, where
six hussar officers were playing at cards. The major was
deahng. What was my astonishment when, looking at him
attentively, I recognized Ivan Ivanovitch Zourin, who had
once beaten me at play in the Simbirsk tavern.

" Is it possible ? " I exclaimed. " Ivan Ivanovitch 1 Is
it really you ? "

'^ Zounds ! Peter Andreitch ! What chance has brought
you here ? Where have you come from ? How is it with
you, brother ? Won't you join in a game of cards ? "

132 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

o

** Thank you, but I would much rather you give orders foi
quarters to be assigned to me."

" What sort of quarters do you want ? Stay with me.**

" I cannot : I am not alone."

" Well, bring your comrade with you."

" I have no comrade with me ; I am with a — lady."

** A lady ! Where did you pick her up ? Aha, brother
mine ! "

And with these words, Zourin whistled so significantly
that all the others burst out laughing, and I felt perfectly
confused.

" Well," continued Zourin : " let it be so. You shall have
quarters. But it is a pity .... We should have had one
of our old sprees .... I say, boy ! Why don't you bring
in Pougatcheff 's lady friend ? Or is she obstinate ? Tell her
that she need not be afraid, that the gentleman is very kind
and will do her no harm — then bring her in by the collar."

" What do you mean ? " said I to Zourin. " What lady-
friend of Pougatcheff' s are you talking of? It is the daughter
of the late Captain Mironoff. I have released her from cap-
tivity, and I am now conducting her to my father's country
seat, where I am going to leave her."

" What ! Was it you then who was announced to me just
now ? In the name of Heaven ! what does all this mean ? "

" I will tell you later on. For the present, I beg of you to
set at ease the mind of this poor girl, who has been terribly
frightened by your hussars."

Zourin immediately issued the necessary orders. He went
out himself into the street to apologize to Maria Ivanovna
for the involuntary misunderstanding, and ordered the ser-
geant-major to conduct her to the best lodging in the town.
I remained to spend the night with him.

We had supper, and when we two were left together, I re-
lated to him ray adventures. Zourin listened to me with

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 1 33

the greatest attention. When I had finished, he shook his
head, and said :

"That is all very well, brother; but there is one thing
which is not so ; why the devil do you want to get married ?
As an officer and a man of honour, I do not wish to deceive
you; but, believe me, marriage is all nonsense. Why
should you saddle yourself with a wife and be compelled to
dandle children ? Scout the idea. Listen to me : shake off
this Captain's daughter. I have cleared the road to Sim-
birsk, and it is quite safe. Send her to-morrow by herself to
your parents, and you remain with my detachment. There
is no need for you to return to Orenburg. If you should
again fall into the hands of the rebels, you may not escape
from them so easily a second time. In this way your love
folly will die a natural death, and everything will end
satisfactorily."

Although I did not altogether agree with him, yet I felt
that duty and honour demanded my presence in the army of
the Empress. I resolved to follow Zourin's advice : to send
Maria Ivanovna to my father's estate, and to remain with his
detachment.

Savelitch came in to help me to undress ; I told him that
he was to get ready the next day to accompany Maria
Ivanovna on her journey. He began to make excuses.

"What do you say, my lord? How can I leave you?
W\io will look after you ? What will your parents say ? "

Knowing the obstinate disposition of my follower, I
resolved to get round him by wheedling and coaxing him.

*' My dear friend, Arkhip Savelitch ! " I said to him : " do
not refuse me; be my benefactor. I do not require a
servant here, and I should not feel easy if Maria Ivanovna
were to set out on her journey without you. By serving her
you will be serving me, for I am firmly resolved to marry her,
as soon as circumstances will permit."

134 poushkin's prose tales.

Here Savelitch clasped his hands with an indescribable
look of astonishment.

" To marry ! " he repeated : " the child wants to marry !
But what will your father say ? And your mother, what will
she think ? "

** They will give their consent, without a doubt, when they
know Maria Ivanovna," I repUed. *' I count upon you.
My father and mother have great confidence in you ; you
will therefore intercede for us, won't you?"

The old man was touched.

** Oh, my father, Peter Andreitch ! " he replied, " although
you are thinking of getting married a little too early, yet
Maria Ivanovna is such a good young lady, that it would be
a pity to let the opportunity escape. I will do as you wish.
I will accompany her, the angel, and I will humbly say
to your parents, that such a bride does not need a
dowry."

I thanked Savelitch, and then lay down to sleep in the
same room with Zourin. Feeling very much excited, I
began to chatter. At first Zourin listened to my remarks
very willingly ; but little by little his words became rarer
and more disconnected, and at last, instead of replying to
one of my questions, he began to snore. I stopped talking
and soon followed his example.

The next morning I betook myself to Maria Ivanovna.
I communicated to her my plans. She recognized the
reasonableness of them, and immediately agreed to carry
them out. Zourin's detachment was to leave the town that
day. There was no time to be lost. I at once took leave
of Maria Ivanovna, confiding her to the care of Savelitch,
and giving her a letter to my parents.

Maria burst into tears.

" Farewell, Peter Andreitch," said she in a gentle voice.
" God alone knows whether we shall ever see each other

i

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 1 35

again or not ; but I will never forget you ; till my dying day
you alone shall live in my heart ! "

I was unable to reply. There was a crowd of people
around us, and I did not wish to give way to my feelings
before them. At last she departed. I returned to Zourin,
silent and depressed. He endeavoured to cheer me up,
and I tried to divert my thoughts; we spent the day in
noisy mirth, and in the evening we set out on our march.

It was now near the end of February. The winter, which
had rendered all military movements extremely difficult,
was drawing to its close, and our generals began to make
preparations for combined action. Pougatcheff was still
under the walls of Orenburg, but our divisions united and
began to close in from every side upon the rebel camp.
On the appearance of our troops, the revolted villages
returned to their allegiance; the rebel bands everywhere
retreated before us, and everything gave promise of a
speedy and successful termination to the campaign.

Soon afterwards Prince Golitzin defeated Pougatcheff
under the walls of the fortress of Tatischtscheff, routed his
troops, relieved Orenburg, and to all appearances seemed
to have given the final and decisive blow to the rebellion.
Zourin was sent at this time against a band of rebellious
Bashkirs, who, however, dispersed before we were able to
come up with them. The spring found us in a little Tartar
village. The rivers overflowed their banks, and the roads
became impassable. We consoled ourselves for our in-
action with the thought that there would soon be an end to
this tedious petty warfare with brigands and savages.

But Pougatcheff was not yet taken. He soon made his
appearance in the manufacturing districts of Siberia, where
he collected new bands of followers and once more com-
menced his marauding expeditions. Reports of fresh
successes on his part were soon in circulation. We heard

136 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

of the destruction of several Siberian fortresses. Then
came the news of the capture of Kazan, and the march of
the impostor to Moscow, which greatly disturbed the leaders
of the army, who had fondly imagined that the power of
the despised rebel had been completely broken. Zourin
received orders to cross the Volga.

I will not describe our march and the conclusion of the
war. I will only say that the campaign was as calamitous
as it possibly could be. Law and order came to an end
everywhere, and the land-holders concealed themselves in
the woods. Bands of robbers scoured the country in all
directions; the commanders of isolated detachments
punished and pardoned as they pleased ; and the condition
of the extensive territory in which the conflagration raged,
was terrible. . . . Heaven grant that we may never see such
a senseless and merciless revolt again !

Pougatcheff took to flight, pursued by Ivan Ivanovitch
Michelson. We soon heard of his complete overthrow.
At last Zourin received news of the capture of the impostor,
and, at the same time, orders to halt. The war was ended.
At last it was possible for me to return to my parents. The
thought of embracing them, and of seeing Maria Ivanovna
again, of whom I had received no information, filled me
with delight. I danced about like a child. Zourin laughed
and said with a shrug of his shoulders :

'* No good will come of it ! If you get married, you are
lost!"

In the meantime a strange feeling poisoned my joy : the
thought of that evil-doer, covered with the blood of so many
innocent victims, and of the punishment that awaited him,
troubled me involuntarily.

" Emelia, Emelia ! " ^ I said to myself with vexation,

* Diminutive of Emelian.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. 137

"why did you not dash yourself against the bayonets, or
fall beneath the bullets ? That was the best thing you could
have done." ^

And how could I feel otherwise ? The thought of him
was inseparably connected with the thought of the mercy
which he had shown to me in one of the most terrible
moments of my life, and with the deliverance of my bride
from the hands of the detested Shvabrin.

Zourin granted me leave of absence. In a few days'
time I should again be in the midst of my family, and
should once again set eyes upon the face of my Maria
Ivanovna. . . . Suddenly an unexpected storm burst upon
me.

On the day of my departure, and at the very moment
when I was preparing to set out, Zourin came to my hut,
holding in his hand a paper, and looking exceedingly
troubled. A pang went through my heart. I felt alarmed,
without knowing why. He sent my servant out of the
room, and said that he had something to tell me.

"What is it?" I asked with uneasiness.

" Something rather disagreeable," replied he, giving me
the paper. " Read what I have just received."

I read it : it was a secret order to all the commanders of
detachments to arrest me wherever I might be found, and
to send me without delay under a strong guard to Kazan,
to appear before the Commission instituted for the trial of
Pougatcheff.

The paper nearly fell from my hands.

" There is no help for it," said Zourin, " my duty is to
obey orders. Probably the report of your intimacy with

^ After having advanced to the gates of Moscow, Pougatcheff was
defeated, and being afterwards sold by his accomplices for 100,000
roubles, he was imprisoned in an iron cage and carried to Moscow,
where he was executed in the year 1775.

138 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

Pougatcheff has in some way reached the ears of the
authorities. I hope that the affair will have no serious
consequences, and that you will be able to justify yourself
before the Commission. Keep up your spirits and set out
at once."

My conscience was clear, and I did not fear having to
appear before the tribunal ; but the thought that the hour
of my meeting with Maria might be deferred for several
months, filled me with misgivings.

The telega ^ was ready. Zourin took a friendly leave of me,
and I took my place in the vehicle. Two hussars with
drawn swords seated themselves, one on each side of me,
and we set out for our destination.

* An open vehicle without springs.

139

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SENTENCE.

I FELT convinced that the cause of my arrest was my ab-
senting myself from Orenburg without leave. I could
easily justify myself on that score : for sallying out against the
enemy had not only not been prohibited, but had even been
encouraged. I might be accused of undue rashness instead
of disobedience of orders. But my friendly intercourse with
Pougatcheff could be proved by several witnesses, and could
not but at least appear very suspicious. During the whole of
the journey I thought of the examination that awaited me,
and mentally prepared the answers that I should make. I
resolved to tell the plain unvarnished truth before the court,
feeling convinced that this was the simplest and, at the same
time, the surest way of justifying myself.

I arrived at Kazan — the town had been plundered and set
on fire. In the streets, instead of houses, there were to be
seen heaps of burnt stones, and blackened walls without
roofs or windows. Such were the traces left by Pougatcheff !
I was conducted to the fortress which had escaped the
ravages of tlie fire. The hussars delivered me over to the
officer of the guard. The latter ordered a blacksmith to be
sent for. Chains were placed round my feet and fastened
together. Then I was taken to the prison and left alone in
a dark and narrow dungeon, with four blank walls and a small
window protected by iron gratings.

Such a beginning boded no good to me. For all that, I

I40 poushkin's prose tales.

did not lose hope nor courage. I had recourse to the con-
solation of all those in affliction, and after having tasted for
the first time the sweet comforting of prayer poured out from
a pure but sorrow-stricken heart, I went oflf into a calm
sleep, without thinking of what might happen to me.

The next morning the gaoler awoke me with the an-
nouncement that I was to appear before the Commission.
Two soldiers conducted me through a courtyard to the
Commandant's house : they stopped in the ante-room and
allowed me to enter the inner room by myself.

I found myself in a good-sized apartment. At the table,
which was covered with papers, sat two men : an elderly
general, of a cold and stem aspect, and a young captain of
the Guards, of about twenty-eight years of age, and of very
agreeable and affable appearance. Near the window, at
a separate table, sat the secretary, with a pen behind his ear,
and bending over his paper, ready to write down my depo-
sitions.

The examination began. I was asked my name and pro-
fession. The General inquired if I was the son of Andrei
Petrovitch Grineff, and on my replying in the affirmative, he
exclaimed in a stem tone :

"It is a pity that such an honourable man should have
such an unworthy son ! "

I calmly replied that whatever were the accusations against
me, I hoped to be able to refute them by the candid avowal
of the tmth.

My assurance did not please him. ' ^

" You are very audacious, my friend," said he, frowning :
" but we have dealt with others like you."

Then the young officer asked me under what circum-
stances and at what time I had entered Pougatcheff's ser-
vice, and in what affairs I had been employed by him.

I replied indignantly, that, as an officer and a nobleman.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. I4I

I could never have entered Pougatcheflf's service, and could
never have received any commission from him whatever.

" How comes it then," continued the interrogator, " that
the nobleman and officer was the only one spared by the im-
postor, while all his comrades were cruelly murdered ? How
comes it that this same officer and nobleman could revel
with the rebellious scoundrels, and receive from the leader
of the villains presents, consisting of a pelisse, a horse, and
half a rouble ? Whence came such strange friendship, and
I upon what does it rest, if not upon treason, or at least upon
abominable and unpardonable cowardice ? '*

I was deeply offended by the words of the officer of the
Guards, and I began to defend myself with great warmth.

related how my acquaintance with Pougatcheff began
upon the steppe during a snow-storm, how he had recog-
nized me at the capture of the fortress of Bailogorsk and
spared my life. I admitted that I had received a pelisse
and a horse from the impostor, but that I had defended the
fortress of Bailogorsk against the rebels to the last extremity.
In conclusion I appealed to my General, who could bear
witness to my zeal during the disastrous siege of Orenburg.

The stern old man took up from the table an open letter
and began to read it aloud :

" In reply to your Excellency's inquiry respecting Ensign
Grineff, who is charged with being implicated in the present
nsurrection and with entering into communication with the
leader of the robbers, contrary to the rules of the service
and the oath of allegiance, I have the honour to report that
;he said Ensign Grineff formed part of the garrison in Oren-
burg from the beginning of October 1773 to the twenty-
bur th of February of the present year, on which date
le quitted the town, and since that time he has not made
lis appearance again. We have heard from some deserters
hat he was in Pougatcheff 's camp, and that he accompanied

142 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

him to the fortress of Bailogorsk, where he had formerly
been garrisoned. With respect to his conduct, I can
only "

Here the General interrupted his reading and said to me
harshly :

"What do you say now by way of justification?"

I was about to continue as I began and explain the state
of affairs between myself and Maria Ivanovna as frankly as
all the rest, but suddenly I felt an invincible disgust at the
thought of doing so. It occurred to my mind, that if I
mentioned her name, the Commission would summon her
to appear, and the thought of connecting her name with the
vile doings of hardened villains, and of herself being con-
fronted with them — this terrible idea produced such an im-
pression upon me, that I became confused and maintained
silence.

My judges, who seemed at first to have listened to
my answers with a certain amount of good-will, were once
more prejudiced against me on perceiving my confusion.
The officer of the Guards demanded that I should be con-
fronted with my principal accuser. The General ordered
that the "rascal of yesterday" should be summoned. I
turned round quickly towards the door, to await the appear-
ance of my accuser. After a few moments I heard the
clanking of chains, the door opened, and — Shvabrin entered
the room. I was astonished at the change in his appear-
ance. He was terribly thin and pale. His hair, but a short
time ago as black as pitch, was now quite grey ; his long
beard was unkempt. He repeated all his accusations in
a weak but determined voice. According to his account, I
had been sent by Pougatcheff to Orenburg as a spy ; every
day I used to ride out to the advanced posts, in order
to transmit written information of all that took place within
the town ; that at last I had gone quite over to the side of

THE captain's DAUGHTER. I43

the usurper and had accompanied him from fortress to for.
tress, endeavouring in every way to injure my companions
in crime, in order to occupy their places and profit the
better by the rewards of the impostor.

I listened to him in silence, and I rejoiced on account of one
thing : the name of Maria was not mentioned by the scoun-
drel, whether it was that his self-love could not bear the
thought of one who had rejected him with contempt, or that
within his heart there was a spark of that self-same feeling
which had induced me to remain silent. Whatever it was,
the name of the daughter of the Commandant of Bailogorsk
was not pronounced in the presence of the Commission. I
became still more confirmed in my resolution, and when the
judges asked me what I had to say in answer to Shvabrin's
evidence, I replied that I still stood by my first statement and
that I had nothing else to add in justification of myself.

The General ordered us to be led away. We quitted the
room together. I looked calmly at Shvabrin, but did not
say a word to him. He looked at me with a malicious smile,
lifted up hfs fetters and passed out quickly in front of me.
I was conducted back to prison, and was not compelled to
undergo a second examination.

I was not a witness of all that now remains for me to im-
part to the reader ; but I have heard it related so often, that
the most minute details are indelibly engraven upon my
memory, and it seems to me as if I had taken a part in them
unseen.

Maria Ivanovna was received by my parents with that
sincere kindness which distinguished people in the olden
time. They regarded it as a favour from God that the
opportunity was afforded them of sheltering and consoling
the poor orphan. They soon became sincerely attached to
her, because it was impossible to know her and not to love
her. My love for her no longer appeared mere folly to my

144 poushkin's prose tales.

father, and my mother had one wish only, that her Petei
should marry the pretty Captain's daughter.

The news of my arrest filled all my family with consterna-
tion. Maria Ivanovna had related so simply to my parents
my strange acquaintance with Pougatcheff, that not only had
they felt quite easy about the matter, but had often been
obliged to laugh heartily at the whole story. My father
would not believe that I could be implicated in an infamous
rebellion, the aim of which was the destruction of the throne
and the extermination of the nobles. He questioned Save-
litch severely. My retainer did not deny that I had been
the guest of Pougatcheff, and that the villain had acted very
generously towards me, but he affirmed with a solemn oath
that he had never heard a word about treason. My old
parents became easier in mind, and waited impatiently for
more favourable news. Maria Ivanovna, however, was in a
state of great agitation, but she kept silent, as she was
modest and prudent in the highest degree.

Several weeks passed. . . . Then my father unexpectedly
received from St. Petersburg a letter from our relative,

Prince B . The letter was about me. After the usual

compliments, he informed him that the suspicions which
had been raised concerning my participation in the plots
of the rebels, had unfortunately been shown to be only too
well founded ; that capital punishment would have been
meted out to me, but that the Empress^ in consideration of
the faithful services and the grey hairs of my father, had ]
resolved to be gracious towards his criminal son, and,
instead of condemning him to suffer an ignominious death,
had ordered that he should be sent to the most remote*
part of Siberia for the rest of his life.

This unexpected blow nearly killed my father. He lost
his usual firmness, and his grief, usually silent, found vent
in bitter complaints.

THE captain's DAUGHTER. I45

"What!" he cried, as if beside himself: *'my son has
taken part in Pougatcheff's plots ! God of Justice, that I
should live to see this ! The Empress spares his life !
Does that make it any better for me ? It is not death at
the hands of the executioner that is so terrible : my great-
grandfather died upon the scaffold for the defence of that
which his conscience regarded as sacred ; ^ my father suf-
fered with Volinsky and Khrouschtcheff.' But that a
nobleman should be false to his oath, should associate with
i robbers, with murderers and with runaway slaves ! . . .
Shame and disgrace upon our race ! "

Frightened by his despair, my mother dared not weep in
his presence ; she endeavoured to console him by speaking
of the uncertainty of reports, and the little dependency to
be placed upon the opinions of other people. But my
father was inconsolable.

Maria Ivanovna suffered more than anybody. Being
firmly convinced that I could have justified myself if I had
only wished to do so, she guessed the reason of my silence,
and considered herself the cause of my misfortune. She
hid from everyone her tears and sufferings, and was in-
cessantly thinking of the means by which I might be saved.

One evening my father was seated upon the sofa turning
over the leaves of the " Court Calendar," but his thoughts
were far away, and the reading of the book failed to produce
upon him its usual effect. He was whistling an old march.
My mother was silently knitting a woollen waistcoat, and
from time to time her tears ran down upon her work. All
at once, Maria Ivanovna, who was also at work in the same

One of Poushkin's ancestors was condemned to death by Peter the
Great.

^ Chiefs of the Russian party against Biren, the unscrupulous German
'avourite of the Empress Anne. They were put to death under circura.
tances of great cruelty.

:i

146 poushkin's prose tales.

room, declared that it was absolutely necessary that she
should go to St. Petersburg, and she begged of my parents
to furnish her with the means of doing so. My mother was
very much hurt at this resolution.

" Why do you wish to go to St. Petersburg ? " said she.
" Is it possible, Maria Ivanovna, that you want to forsake
us also ? "

Maria replied that her fate depended upon this journey,
that she was going to seek help and protection from power
ful persons, as the daughter of a man who had fallen a
victim to his fidelity.

My father lowered his head j every word that recalled
mind the supposed crime of his son, was painful to him, and
seemed like a bitter reproach.

" Go, my child," he said to her at last with a sigh j " we
do not wish to stand in the way of your happiness. May
God give you an honest man for a husband, and not an
infamous traitor."

He rose and left the room.

Maria Ivanovna, left alone with my mother, confided to
her a part of her plan. My mother, with tears in her eyes,
embraced her and prayed to God that her undertaking
might be crowned with success. Maria Ivanovna made all
her preparations, and a few days afterwards she set out on
her road with the faithful Palasha and the equally faithful
Savehtch, who, forcibly separated from me, consoled himself
at least with the thought that he was serving my betrothed.
Maria Ivanovna arrived safely at Sofia, and learning that
the Court was at that time at Tsarskoe Selo, she resolved to
stop there. At the post-house, a small recess behind a
partition was assigned to her. The postmaster's wife came
immediately to chat with her, and she informed Maria that
she was niece to one of the stove-lighters of the Court, and
she initiated her into all the mysteries of Court life. She

THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER. I47

told her at what hour the Empress usually got up, when she
took coffee, and when she went out for a walk ; what great
lords were then with her ; what she had deigned to say the
day before at table, and whom she had received in the
evening. In a word, the conversation of Anna Vlassievna
was as good as a volume of historical memoirs, and would
be very precious to the present generation.

Maria Ivanovna listened to her with great attention.
They went together into the palace garden. Anna Vlassievna
related the history of every alley and of every little bridge,
and after seeing all that they wished to see, they returned
to the post-house, highly satisfied with each other.

The next day, early in the morning, Maria Ivanovna
awoke, dressed herself, and quietly betook herself to the
palace garden. It was a lovely morning; the sun was
gilding the tops of the linden trees, already turning yellow
beneath the cold breath of autumn. The broad lake
glittered in the light. The swans, just awake, came sailing
majestically out from under the bushes overhanging the
banks. Maria Ivanovna walked towards a delightful lawn,
where a monument had just been erected in honour of the
recent victories gained by Count Peter Alexandrovitch
Roumyanzoff.* Suddenly a little white dog of English breed
ran barking towards her. Maria grew frightened and stood
still. At the same moment she heard an agreeable female
voice call out :

*' Do not be afraid, it will not bite."

Maria saw a lady seated on the bench opposite the
monument. Maria sat down on the other end of the
bench. The lady looked at her attentively ; Maria on her
side, by a succession of stolen glances, contrived to examine

^ A famous Russian general who distinguished himself in the wax
against the Turks.

148 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

the stranger from head to foot. She was attired in a white
morning gown, a light cap, and a short mantle. She seemed
to be about forty years of age. Her face, which was full
and red, wore an expression of calmness and dignity, and
her blue eyes and smiling lips had an indescribable charm
about them. The lady was the first to break silence.

" You are doubtless a stranger here ? " said she.

" Yes, I only arrived yesterday from the country."

" Did you come with your parents ? "

" No, I came alone."

" Alone ! But you are very young to travel alone."

" I have neither father nor mother."

" Perhaps you have come here on some business ? "

"Yes, I have come to present a petition to the
Empress."

" You are an orphan : probably you have come to com-
plain of some injustice."

** No, I have come to ask for mercy, not justice.*

" May I ask you who you are ? "

" I am the daughter of Captain Mironoff."

'* Of Captain Mironoff ! the same who was Commandant
of one of the Orenburg fortresses ? "

" The same, Madam."

The lady appeared moved.

' " Forgive me," said she, in a still kinder voice, " for in-
teresting myself in your business ; but I am frequently at '
Court; explain to me the nature of your request, and
perhaps I may be able to help you."

Maria Ivanovna arose and thanked her respectfully.
Everything about this unknown lady drew her towards her
and inspired her with confidence. Maria drew from her
pocket a folded paper and gave it to her unknown protect-
ress, who read it to herself.

At first she began reading with an attentive and bene-

I

THE captain's DAUGHTER. I49

volent expression ; but suddenly her countenance changed,
and Maria, whose eyes followed all her movements, became
frightened by the severe expression of that face, which a
moment before had been so calm and gracious.

"You are supplicating for Grineff?" said the lady in a
cold tone. "The Empress cannot pardon him. He went
over to the usurper, not out of ignorance and credulity, but
as a depraved and dangerous scoundrel."

" Oh ! it is not true ! " exclaimed Maria.

*'How, not true?" replied the lady, her face flushing.

" It is not true ; as God is above us, it is not true ! I
know all, I will tell you everything. It was for my sake
alone that he exposed himself to all the misfortunes that
have overtaken him. And if he did not justify himself
before the Commission, it was only because he did not wish
to implicate me."

She then related with great warmth all that is already
known to the reader.

The lady listened to her attentively.

" Where are you staying ? " she asked, when Maria had
finished her story; and hearing that it was with Anna
Vlassievna, she added with a smile :

" Ah, I know. Farewell ; do not speak to anybody about
our meeting. I hope that you will not have to wait long for
an answer to your letter."

With these words she rose from her seat and proceeded
down a covered alley, while Maria Ivanovna returned to
Anna Vlassievna, filled with joyful hopes.

Her hostess scolded her for going out so early; the
autumn air, she said, was not good for a young girl's health.
She brought an urn, and over a cup of tea she was about to
begin her endless discourse about the Court, when suddenly
a carriage with armorial bearings stopped before the door,
and a lackey entered with the announcement that the

ISO POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Empiess summoned to her presence the daughter of Captam
MironofF.

Anna Vlassievna was perfectly amazed.

" Good Lord ! " she exclaimed : " the Empress summons
you to Court. How did she get to know anything about
you? And how will you present yourself before Her
Majesty, my little mother? I do not think that you even
know how to walk according to Court manners. . . . Shall
I conduct you ? I could at any rate give you a little caution.
And how can you go in your travelling dress ? Shall I send
to the nurse for her yellow gown ? "

The lackey announced that it was the Empress's pleasure
that Maria Ivanovna should go alone and in the dress that
she had on. There was nothing else to be done : Maria
took her seat in the carriage and was driven off, accompanied
by the counsels and blessings of Anna Vlassievna.

Maria felt that our fate was about to be decided; her
heart beat violently. In a few moments the carriage stopped
af the gate of the palace. Maria descended the steps with
trembling feet. The doors flew open before her. She
traversed a large number of empty but magnificent rooms,
guided by the lackey. At last, coming to a closed door, he
informed her that she would be announced directly, and
then left her by herself.

The thought of meeting the Empress face to face so
terrified her, that she could scarcely stand upon her feet.
In about a minute the door was opened, and she was
ushered into the Empress's boudoir.

The Empress was seated at her toilette-table, surrounded
by a number of Court ladies, who respectfully made way for
Maria Ivanovna. The Empress turned round to her with
an amiable smile, and Maria recognized in her the lady with
whom she had spoken so freely a few minutes before. The
lEmpress bade her approach, and said with a smile ;

THE CAPTAIN*S DAUGHTER. 151

" I am glad that I am able to keep my word and grant
your petition. Your business is arranged. I am convinced
of the innocence of your lover. Here is a letter which you
will give to your future father-in-law."

Maria took the letter with trembling hands and, bursting
into tears, fell at the feet of the Empress, who raised her up
and kissed her upon the forehead.

" I know that you are not rich," said she ; " but I owe a
debt to the daughter of Captain Mironoff. Do not be un-
easy about the future. I will see to your welfare."

After having consoled the poor orphan in this way, the
Empress allowed her to depart. Maria left the palace in
the same carriage that had brought her thither. Anna
Vlassievna, who was impatiently awaiting her return, over-
whelmed her with questions, to which Maria returned very
vague answers. Although dissatisfied with the weakness ot
her memory, Anna Vlassievna ascribed it to her provincial
bashfulness, and magnanimously excused her. The same
day Maria, without even desiring to glance at St. Petersburg,
set out on her return journey.

# # # * *

The memoirs of Peter Andreitch GrinefF end here. But
from a family tradition we learn that he was released from
his imprisonment towards the end of the year 1774 by order
of the Empress, and that he was present at the execution of
Pougatcheff^ who recognized him in the crowd and nodded
to him with his head, which, a few moments afterwards, was
shown lifeless and bleeding to the people.^ Shortly after-
wards, Peter Andreitch and Maria Ivanovna were married.
Their descendants still flourish in the government of Sim-
birsk. About thirty versts from , there is a village

^ It is said that even at the present day the peasants in the south-east
of Russia are firmly convinced that PougatchefiF was really the Emperor
Peter HI., and pot ao impostor.

152 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

belonging to ten landholders. In the house of one of
them, there may still be seen, framed and glazed, the auto-
graph letter of Catherine II. It is addressed to the father
of Peter Andreitch, and contains the justification of his son,
and a tribute of praise to the heart and intellect of Captain
Mironoff 's daughter.

DOUBROVSKY.

DOUBROVSKY.

CHAPTER I.

SOME years ago, there lived on one of his estates a
Russian gentleman of the old school named Kirila
Petrovitch Troekouroff. His Wealth, distinguished birth,
and connections gave him great weight in the government
where his property was situated. Completely spoilt by his
surroundings, he was in the habit of giving way to every
impulse of his passionate nature, to every caprice of his
sufficiently narrow mind. The neighbours were ready to
gratify his -slightest whim ; the -government officials trembled
at his name. Kirila Petrovitch accepted all these signs of
servility as homage due to him. His house was always full
of guests, ready to amuse his lordship's leisure, and to join
his noisy and sometimes boisterous mirth. Nobody dared
to refuse his invitations or, on certain days, omit to put in
an appearance at the village of Pokrovskoe. Kirila Petro;
vitch was very hospitable, and in spite of the extraordinary
vigour of his constitution, he suffered two or three times a
week from surfeit, and became tipsy every evening.

Very few of the young women of his household escaped
the amorous attentions of this old man of fifty. Moreover,
in one of the wings of his house lived sixteen girls engaged
in needlework. The windows of this wing were protected
by wooden bars, the doors were kept locked, and the keys
retained by Kirila Petrovitch. The young recluses at an

156 poushkin's prose tales.

appointed hour went into the garden for a walk under the
surveillance of two old women. From time to time Kirila
Petrovitch married some of them off, and new comers took
their places. He treated his peasants and domestics in a
severe and arbitrary fashion, in spite of which they were
very devoted to him : they loved to boast of the wealth and
influence of their master, and in their turn took many a
liberty with their neighbours, trusting to his powerful
protection.

The ordinary occupatiohs of Troekouroff consisted in
driving over his vast domains, passing his nights in pro-
longed revels, and playing practical jokes, specially invented
from time to time, the victims being generally new acquain-
tances, though his old friends did not always escape, one
only— Andrei Gavrilovitch Doubrovsky — excepted.

This Doubrovsky, a retired lieutenant of the Guards, was
his nearest neighbour, and possessed seventy serfs. Troe-
kouroff,' haughty in his dealings with people of the highest
rank, respected Doubrovsky, i^^spite of his humble fortune.
They had been friends in the service, and Troekouroff
knew from experience the impatience and decision of his
character. The celebrated events of the year 1762 ^ sepa-
rated them for a long time. Troekouroff, a relative of the
Princess Dashkoff,'^ received rapid promotion ; Doubrovsky
with his reduced fortune, was compelled to leave the service
and settle down in the only village that remained to him.
Kirila Petrovitch, hearing of this, offered him his protec-
tion ; but Doubrovsky thanked him and remained poor and
independent. Some years later, Troekouroff, having ob-
tained the rank of general, and retired to his estate, they
met again and were delighted with each other. After that

^ Alluding to the deposition and assassination of Peter III., and the
accession of his wife Catherine II.
* One of Catherine's partisans in the revolution of 1762.

DOUBROVSKY. 157

they saw each other every day, and Kirila Petrovitch, who
had never deigned to visit anybody in his life, came quite
as a matter of course to the little house of his old comrade.
Being of the same age, born in the same rank of society,
and having received the same education, they resembled
each other somewhat in character and inclinations. In
some respects their fates had been similar : both had
married for love, both had soon become widowers, and both
had been left with an only child. The son of Doubrovsky
was studying at St.\ Petersburg ; the daughter of Kirila
Petrovitch grew up under the eyes of her father, and
TroekourofF often said to Doubrovsky :

*' Listen, brother Andrei Gavrilovitch ; if your Volodka ^
should be successful, I will give him Masha ^ for his wife, in
spite of his being as naked as a goshawk."

Andrei Gavrilovitch used to shake his head, and gene-
rally replie'd : '

" No, Kirila Petrovitch ; my Volodka is no match for
Maria Kirilovna. A poor petty noble, such as he, would
do better to marry a poor girl of the- petty nobililty, and be
the head of his house, rather than become the bailiff of
some spoilt little woman."

Everybody envied the good understanding existing
between the haughty Troekouroff and his poor neighbour,
and wondered at the boldness of the latter when, at the
table of Kirila Petrovitch, he expressed his own opinion
frankly, and did not hesitate to maintain an opinion con-
trary to that of his host Some attempted to imitate him
and ventured to overstep the limits of the license accorded
them ; but Kirila Petrovitch taught them such a lesson, that
they never afterwards felt any desire to repeat the experi-
ment. Doubrovsky alone remained beyond the range of

^ Diminutive of Vladimir. * Diminutive of Maria or Mary.

iS8 poushkin's prose tales.

this general law. But an unexpected incident deranged
and altered all this. i

One day, in the beginning of autumn, Kirila Petro-
vitch prepared to go out hunting. Orders had been given
the evening before for the huntsmen and gamekeepers to be
ready at five o'clock in the morning. The tent and kitchen
had been sent on beforehand to the place where Kirila
Petrovitch was to dine. The host and his guests went to
the kennel, where more than five hundred harriers and grey-
hounds lived in luxury and warmth, praising the generosity
of Kirila Petrovitch in their canine language. There was
also a hospital for the sick dogs, under the care of staff-
surgeon Timoshka, and a separate place where the bitches
brought forth and suckled their pups. Kirila Petrovitch
was proud of this magnificent establishment, and never
missed an opportunity of boasting about it,before his guests,|
each of whom had inspected it at least twenty times. H
walked through the kennel, surrounded by his guests an
accompanied by Timoshka and the head gamekeeper;
pausing before some of the compartments, either to ask
after the health of some sick dog, to make some observa-
tion more or less just and severe, or to call some dog to him
by name and speak caressingly to it. The guests con-
sidered it their duty to go into raptures over Kirila Petro-
vitch's kennel; Doubrovsky alone remained silent and
frowned. He was an ardent sportsman ; but his modest
fortune only permitted him to keep two harriers and one
greyhound, and he could not restrain a certain feeling of
envy at the sight of this magnificent establishment.

" Why do you frown, brother ? " Kirila Petrovitch asked
him. ** Does not my kennel please you ? "

"No," replied Doubrovsky abruptly: "the kennel is
marvellous, but I doubt whether your people live as well as
your dogs."

DOUBROVSKY. 159

One of the gamekeepers took offence.

" Thanks to God and our master, we have nothing to
complain of," said he; "but if the truth must be told,
there are certain nobles who would not do badly if they
exchanged their manor-house for one of the compart-
ments of this kennel: they would be better fed and feel
warmer."

Kirila Petrovitch burst out laughing at this insolent
remark from his servant, and the guests followed his
example, although they felt that the gamekeeper's joke
might apply to them also. Doubrovsky turned pale and
said not a word. At that moment a basket, containing
some new-born puppies, was brought to Kirila Petrovitch ;
he chose two out of the litter and ordered the rest to be
drowned. In the meantime Andrei Gavrilovitch had dis-
appeared without anybody having observed it.

On returning with his guests from the kennel, Kirila
Petrovitch sat down to supper, and it was only then that he
noticed the absence Qf Doubrovsky. His people informed
him that Andrei Gavrilovitch had gone home. Troekouroff
immediately gave orders that he was to be overtaken and
brought back without fail. He had never gone hunt-
ing without Dpubrovsky, who was a fine and experienced
connoisseur in all matters relating to dogs, and an infallible
umpire in all possible disputes connected with sport. The
servant who had galloped after him, returned while they
were still seated at table, and informed his master that
Andrei Gavrilovitch had refused to listen to him and would
not return. Kirila Petrovitch, as usual, was heated with
liquor, and becoming very angry, he sent the same servant
a second time to tell Andrei Gavrilovitch that if he did not
return at once to spend the night at Pokrovskoe, he,
Troekouroff, would break off all friendly intercourse with
him for ever. The servant galloped off again. Kirila

l60 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

Petrovitch rose from the table, dismissed his guests *^nd
retired to bed.

The next day his first question was : "Is Andrei Gavrilo-
vitch here?" A triangular-shaped letter was handed to
him. Kirila Petrovitch ordered his secretary to read it
aloud, and the following is what he heard :

" Gracious Sir !

" I do not intend to return to Pokrovskoe until
you send the dog-feeder Paramoshka to me with an
apology : I shall retain the liberty of punishing or for-
giving him. I cannot put up with jokes from your servants,
nor do I intend to put up with them from you, as I am not
a buffoon, but a gentleman of ancient family. I remain your
obedient servant,

" Andrei DouBROVSKY."

According to present ideas of etiquette, such a letter
would be very unbecoming ; it irritated Kirila Petrovitch,
not by its strange style, but by its substance.

'*What!" exclaimed Troekouroff, springing barefooted
out of bed ; " send my people to him with an apology !
And he to be at liberty to punish or pardon them ! What
can he be thinking of? Does he know with whom he is
dealing ? I'll teach him a lesson ! He shall know what it is
to oppose Troekouroff ! " •

Kirila Petrovitch dressed himself and set out for the hunt
with his usual ostentation. But the chase was not success-
ful ; during the whole of the day one hare only was seen,
and that escaped. The dinner in the field, under the tent,
was also a failure, or at least it was not to the taste of Kirila
Petrovitch, who struck the cook, abused the guests, and on
the return journey rode intentionally, with all his suite,
through the fields of Doubrovsky.

I

I6l

CHAPTER II.

SEVERAL days passed, and the animosity between the
two neighbours did not subside. Andrei Gavrilovitch
returned no more to Pokrovskoe, and Kirila Petrovitch,
feeling dull without him, vented his spleen in the most
insulting expressions, which, thanks to the zeal of the
neighbouring nobles, reached Doubrovsky revised and aug-
mented. - A fresh incident destroyed the last hope of a
reconciliation.

One day, Doubrovsky was going the round of his little
estate, when, on approaching a grove of birch trees, he
heard the blows of an axe, and a minute afterwards the
crash of a falling tree ; he hastened to the spot and found
some of the Pokrovskoe peasants stealing his wood. Seeing
him, they took to flight ; but Doubrovsky, with the assis-
tance of his coachman, caught two of them, whom he
brought home bound. Moreover, two horses, belonging to
the enemy, fell into the hands of the conqueror.

Doubrovsky was exceedingly angry. Before this, Troe-
kouroff's people, who were well-known robbers, had never
dared to play tricks within the boundaries of his property,
being aware of the friendship which existed between him and
their master. Doubrovsky now perceived that they were
taking advantage of the rupture which had occurred between
him and his neighbour, and he resolved, contrary to all ideas
Z)f the rules of war, to teach his prisoners a lesson with the
rods which they themselves had collected in his grove, and to

l62 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

send the horses to work and to incorporate them with his
own cattle.

The news of these proceedings reached the ears of Kirila
Petrovitch that very same day. He was almost beside him-
self with rage, and in the first moment of his passion, he
wanted to take all his domestics and make an attack upon
Kistenevka (for such was the name of his neighbour's
village), raze it to the ground, and besiege the landholder in
his own residence. Such exploits were not rare with him ;
but his thoughts soon took another direction. Pacing with
heavy steps up and down the hall, he glanced casually out
of the window, and saw a troika in the act of stopping at his
gate. A man in a leather travelling- cap and a frieze cloak
stepped out of the telega and proceeded towards the wing
occupied by the bailiff. Troekouroff recognized the assessor
Shabashkin, and gave orders for him to be sent in to him. A
minute afterwards Shabashkin stood before Kirila Petrovitch,
and bowing repeatedly, waited respectfully to hear what he
had to say to him.

"Good day — what is your name?" said Troekouroff:
*' Why have you come ? "

" I was going to the town. Your Excellency," replied Sha-
bashkin, " and I called on Ivan Demyanoff to know if there
were any orders."

*' You have come at a very opportune moment — what is
your name ? I have need of you. Take a glass of brandy
and listen to me."

Such a friendly welcome agreeably surprised the assessor :
he decHned the brandy, and listened to Kirila Petrovitch
with all possible attention.

" I have a neighbour," said Troekouroff, " a small pro-
prietor, a rude fellow, and I want to take his property from
him. . . . What do you think of that ? "

" Your Excellency, are there any documents — ? "

DOUBROVSKY. l5j

" Don't talk nonsense, brother/ what documents are you
talking about ? The business in this case is to take his pro-
perty away from him, with or without documents. But
stop! This estate belonged to us at one time. It was
bought from a certain Spitsin, and then sold to Doubrov-
sky's father. Can't you make a case out of that ? "

"It would be difficult, Your Excellency: probably the
sale was effected in strict accordance with the law."
** Think, brother; try your hardest."
"If, for example, Your Excellency could in some way
obtam from your neighbour the contract, in virtue of which
he holds possession of his estate, then, without doubt—"

"I understand, but that is the misfortune : all his papers
were burnt at the time of the fire."

" What ! Your Excellency, his papers were burnt ? What
could be better? In that case, take proceedings according
to law; without the slightest doubt you will receive com
plete satisfaction."

" You think so? Well, see to it ; I rely upon your zeal
and you can rest assured of my gratitude."

Shabashkin, bowing almost to the ground, took his depar-
ture; from that day he began to devote all his energies to
the busmess intrusted to him and, thanks to his prompt
action, exactly a fortnight afterwards Doubrovsky received
from the town a summons to appear in court and to produce
the documents, in virtue of which he held possession of the
village of Kistenevka.

Andrei Gavrilovitch, greatly astonished by this unexpected
request wrote that very same day a somewhat rude reply in
which he explained that the village of Kistenevka became
his on the death of his father, that he held it by right of in
heritance, that Troekouroff had nothing to do with the

th:ifS:'"^'^'"^'^''^-"'^™^''^- »f '«-"«• i» addressing

M

164 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

matter, and that all adventitious pretensions to his property
were nothing but the outcome of chicanery and roguery.
Doubrovsky had no experience in litigation. He generally
followed the dictates of common sense, a guide rarely safe,
and nearly always insufficient.

This letter produced a very agreeable impression on the
mind of Shabashkin ; he saw, in the first place, that Dou-
Drovsky knew very little about legal matters ; and, in the
second, that it would not be difficult to place such a
passionate and indiscreet man in a very disadvantageous
position.

Andrei Gavrilovitch, after a more careful consideration of
the questions addressed to him, saw the necessity of reply-
ing more circumstantially. He wrote a sufficiently pertinent
paper, but in the end this proved insufficient also.

The business dragged on. Confident in his own right,
Andrei Gavrilovitch troubled himself very little about the
matter; he had neither the inclination nor the means
to scatter money about him, and he began to deride the
mercenary consciences of the scribbling fraternity. The
idea of being made the victim of treachery never entered
his head. Troekouroff, on his side, thought as little of win-
ning the case he had devised. Shabashkin took the matter
in hand for him, acting in his name, threatening and bribing
the judges and quoting and interpreting the ordinances in
the most distorted manner possible.

At last, on the 9th day of P'ebruary, in the year 18 — ,
Doubrovsky received, through the town police, an invitation
to appear at the district court to hear the decision in the
matter of the disputed property between himself — Lieutenant
Doubrovsky, and General-in-Chief Troekouroff, and to sign
his approval or disapproval of the verdict. That same day
Doubrovsky set out for the town. On the road he was over-
taken by Troekouroff. They glared haughtily at each

i

DOUBROVSKY. 165

other, and Doubrovsky observed a malicious smile upon the
face of his adversary.

Arriving in town, Andrei Gavrilovitch stopped at the
house of an acquaintance, a merchant, with whom he spent
the night, and the next morning he appeared before the
Court. Nobody paid any attention to him. After him
arrived Kirila Petrovitch. The members of the Court
received him with every manifestation of the deepest sub-
mission, and an armchair was brought to him out of
consideration for his rank-, years and corpulence. He sat
down j Andrei Gavrilovitch stood leaning against the wall.
A deep silence ensued, and the secretary began in a
sonorous voice to read the decree of the Court.

When the secretary had ceased reading, the assessor arose
and, with a low bow, turned to Troekouroff, inviting him to
sign the paper which he held out to him. Troekouroff,
quite triumphant, took the pen and wrote beneath the
decision of the Court his complete satisfaction.

It was now Doubrovsky's turn. The secretary handed
the paper to* him, but Doubrovsky stood immovable, with
his head bent down. The secretary repeated his invitation :
"To subscribe his full and complete satisfaction, or his
manifest dissatisfaction, if he felt in his conscience that his
case was just, and intended to appeal against the decision of
the Court."

Doubrovsky remained silent ... Suddenly he raised
his head, his eyes sparkled, he stamped his foot, pushed
back the secretary with such force, that he fell, seized the
inkstand, hurled it at the assessor, and cried in a wild
voice :

*' What ! you don't respect the Church of God ! Away,
you race of Shem ! "

Then turning to Kirila Petrovitch :

" Has such a thing ever been heard of, Your Excel-

1 66 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES. •

lency ? " he continued. " The huntsmen lead greyhounds
into the Church of God ! The dogs are running about the
church ! I will teach them a lesson presently ! "

Everybody was terrified. The guards rushed in on hear-
ing the noise, and with difficulty overpowered him. They
led him out and placed him in a sledge. Troekouroff
went out after him, accompanied by the whole Court.
Doubrovsky's sudden madness had produced a deep
impression upon his imagination; the judges, who had
counted upon his gratitude, were not honoured by receiving
a single affable word from him. He returned immediately
to Pokrovskoe, secretly tortured by his conscience, and not
at all satisfied with the triumph of his hatred. Doubrovsky,
in the meantime, lay in bed. The district doctor — not
altogether a blockhead — bled him and applied leeches and
mustard-plasters to him. Towards evening he began to
feel better, and the next day he was taken to Kistenevka,
which scarcely belonged to him any longer.

l67

CHAPTER HI.

SOME time elapsed, but the health of the stricken
Doubrovsky showed no signs of improvement. It is
true that the fits of madness did not recur, but his strength
became visibly less. He forgot his former occupations,
rarely left his room, and for days together remained absorbed
in his own reflections. Egorovna, a kind-hearted old woman
who hard once tended his son, now became his nurse. She
waited upon him like a child, reminded him when it was
time to eat and sleep, fed him and even put him to bed.
Andrei Gavrilovitch obeyed her, and had no intercourse with
anybody else. He was not in a condition to think about his
affairs or to look after his property, and Egorovna saw the
necessity of informing young Doubrovsky, who was then
serving in one of the regiments of Foot Guards stationed in
St. Petersburg, of everything that had happened. And so,
tearing a leaf from the account-book, she dictated to
Khariton the cook, the only literate person in Kistenevka, a
letter, which she sent off that same day to the town post.

But it is time for the reader to become acquainted with
the real hero of this story.

Vladimir Doubrovsky had been educated at the cadet
school and, on leaving it, had entered the Guards as sub-
lieutenant. His father spared nothing that was necessary to
enable him to Uve in a becoming manner, and the young
man received from home a great deal more than he had any
right to expect. Being imprudent and ambitious, he indulged
in extravagant habits, ran into debt, and troubled himself

1 68 poushkin's prose tales.

very little about the future. Occasionally the thought
crossed his mind that sooner or later he would be obliged to
take to himself a rich bride.

One evening, when several officers were spending a few
hours with him, lolling on the couches and smoking pipes
with amber mouth-pieces, Grisha,^ his valet, handed him a
letter, the address and seal of which immediately attracted
the young man's attention. He hastily opened it and read
the following :

*^Our Lord Vladimir Andreivitch, I, your old nurse,
venture to inform you of the health of your papa. He is
very poorly, sometimes he wanders in his talk, and the
whole day long he sits like a stupid child — but life and
death are in the hands of God. Come to us, my bright
little falcon, and we will send horses to meet you at
Pesotchnoe. We hear that the Court is going to hand us
over to Kirila Petrovitch Troekouroff, because it is said that
we belong to him, although we have always belonged to you,
and have always heard so ever since we can remember.
You might, living in St. Petersburg, inform our Father the
Czar of this, and he will not allow us to be wronged. It has
been raining here for the last fortnight, and the shepherd
Rodia died about Michaelmas Day. I send my maternal
blessing to Grisha. Does he serve you well? I remain
your faithful nurse,

" Arina Egorovna .Bouzireva."

Vladimir Doubrovsky read these somewhat unintelligible
lines several times with great agitation. He had lost his
mother during his childhood, and, hardly knowing his
father, had been taken to St. Petersburg when he was eight
years of age. In spite of that, he was romantically attached

^ Diminutive of Gregory.

DOUBROVSKY. 169

to his father, and having had but little opportunity of enjoy-
ing the pleasures of family life, he loved it all the more in
consequence.

The thought of losing his father pained him exceedingly,
and the condition of the poor invalid, which he guessed
from his nurse's letter, horrified him. He imagined his
father, left in an out-of-the-way village, in the hands of a
stupid old woman and her fellow servants, threatened by
some misfortune, and expiring without help in the mid-'^t of
tortures both mental and physical. Vladimir Andre/.vitch
reproached himself with criminal neglect. Not having
received any news of his father for a long time, he had not
even thought of making inquiries about him, supposing him
to be travelling about or engaged in the management of his
estate. That same evening he began to take the necessary
steps for obtaining leave of absence, and two days afterwards
he set out in the stage coach, accompanied by his faithful
Grisha.

Vladimir Andreivitch neared the post station at which he
was to take the turning for Kistenevka. His heart was filled
with sad forebodings ; he feared that he would no longer
find his father aHve. He pictured to himself the dreary kind
of life that awaited him in the village : the loneliness,
solitude, poverty and cares of business of which he knew
nothing. Arriving at the station, he went to the postmaster
and asked for fresh horses. The postmaster, having inquired
where he was going, informed him that horses sent from
Kistenevka had been waiting for him for the last four days.
Soon appeared before Vladimir Andreivitch the old coach-
man Anton, who used formerly to take him over the stables
and look after his pony. Anton's eyes filled with tears on
seeing his young master, and bowing to the ground, he told
him that his old master was still alive, and then hastened to

170 poushkin\s prose tales.

harness the horses. Vladimir Andreivitch declined the
proffered breakfast, and hastened to depart. Anton drove
him along the cross country roads, and conversation began
between them.

" Tell me, if you please, Anton, what is this business
between my father and Troekouroff?"

" God knows, my little father Vladimir Andreivitch ; our
master, they say, had a dispute with Kirila Petrovitch, and
the latter summoned him before the judge, though very
often he himself is the judge. It is not the business of
servants to discuss the affairs of their masters, but it was
useless of your father to contend against Kirila Petrovitch :
better had it been if he had not opposed him."

" It §eems, then, that this Kirila Petrovitch does just
what he pleases among you ? "

" He certainly does, master : he does not care a rap for
the assessor, and the chief of police runs on errands for
him. The nobles repair to his house to do homage to him,
for as the proverb says : * Where there is a trough, there
will the pigs be also.' "

*' Is it true that he wants to take our estate from us ? "

"Oh, master, that is what we have heard. A few days
ago, the sexton from Pokrovskoe said at the christening
held at the house of our overseer: 'You do well to enjoy
yourselves while you are able, for you'll not have much
chance of doing so when Kirila Petrovitch takes you in
hand j ' and Nikita the blacksmith said to him : *Savelitch,
don't distress your fellow sponsor, don't disturb the guests.
Kirila Petrovitch is what he is, and Andrei Gavrilovitch is
the same — and we are all God's and the Czar's.' But you
cannot sew a button upon another person's mouth."

" Then you do not wish to pass into the possession of
Troekouroff? "

** Into the possession of Kirila Petrovitch ! The Lord

DOUBROVSKY. I7I

save and preserve us ! His own people fare badly enough,
and if he got possession of strangers, he would strip off, not
only their skin, but their flesh also. No, may God grant
long life to Andrei Gavrilovitch ; and if God should take
him to Himself, we want nobody but you, our benefactor.
Do not give us up, and we will stand by you."

With these words, Anton flourished his whip, shook the
reins, and the horses broke into a brisk trot.

Touched by the devotion of the old coachman, Dou-
brovsky became silent and gave himself up to his own
reflections. More than an hour passed; suddenly Grisha
roused him by exclaiming : '* There is Pokrovskoe ! " Dou-
brovsky raised his head. They were just then driving along
the, bank of a broad lake, out of which flowed a small
stream winding among the hills. On one of these, above a
thick green wood, rose the green roof and belvedere of a.
huge stone house, together with a five-domed church with
an ancient belfry ; round about were scattered the village
huts with their gardens and wells. Doubrovsky recognized
these places ; he remembered that on that very hill he had
played with little Masha Troekouroff, who was two years
younger than he, and who even then gave promise of being
very beautiful. He wanted to make inquiries of Anton
about her, but a certain bashfulness restrained him.

On approaching the castle, he perceived a white dress
flitting among the trees in the garden. At that moment
Anton whipped the horses, and impelled by that vanity,
common to village coachmen as to drivers in general, he
drove at full speed over the bridge and past the garden.
On emerging from the village, they ascended the hill, and
Vladimir perceived the little wood of birch trees, and to the
left, in an open place, a small grey house with a red roof.
His heart began to beat — before him was Kisteuevka, the
humble abode of his father.

172 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

About ten minutes afterwards he drove into the courtyard
He looked around him with indescribable emotion : twelve
years had elapsed since he last saw his native place. The
little birches, which had just then been planted near the
wooden fence, had now become tall trees with long branches.
The courtyard, formerly ornamented with three regular
flower-beds, between which ran a broad^ path carefully
swept, had been converted into a meadow, in which was
grazing a tethered horse. The dogs began to bark, but
recognizing Anton, they became silent and commenced
wagging their shaggy tails. The servants came rushing out
of the house and surrounded the young master with loud
manifestations of joy. It was with difficulty that he was
able to make his way through the enthusiastic crowd. He
ran up the well-worn steps ; in the vestibule he was met by
Egorovna, who tearfully embraced him.

" How do you do, how do you do, nurse ? " he repeated,
pressing the good old woman to his heart. "And my
father ? Where is he ? How is he ? "

At that moment a tall old man, pale and thin, in a
dressing-gown and cap, entered the room, dragging one
foot after the other with difficulty.

"Where is Volodka?" said he in a weak voice, and
Vladimir embraced his father with affectionate emotion.

The joy proved too much for the sick man ; he grew
weak, his legs gave way beneath him, and he would have
fallen, if his son had not held him up.

** Why did you get out of bed ?" said Egorovna to him.
" He cannot stand upon his feet, and yet he wants to do
the same as other people."

The old man was carried back to his bedroom. He tried
to converse with his son, but he could not collect his
thoughts, and his words had no connection with each other.
He became silent and fell into a kind of somnolence.

DOUBROVSKY. 1 73

Vladimir was struck by his condition. He installed himself
in the bedroom and requested to be left alone with his
I ; father. The household obeyed, and then all turned towards
ijGrisha and led him away to the servants' hall, where they
j I gave him a hearty welcome according to the rustic custom,
lithe while they wearied him with questions and compli-
iments.

174

CHAPTER IV.

A FEW days after his arrival, young Doubrovsky
wished to turn his attention to business, but his
father was not in a condition to give him the necessary
explanations, and Andrei Gavrilovitch had no confidential
adviser. Examining his papers, Vladimir only found the
first letter of the assessor and a rough copy of his father's
reply to it. From these he could not obtain any clear idea
of the lawsuit, and he determined to await the result, trusting
in the justice of his father's cause.

Meanwhile the health of Andrei Gavrilovitch grew worse
from hour to hour. Vladimir foresaw that his end was not
far off, and he never left the old man, now fallen into com-
plete childishness.

In the meantime the period of delay had expired and no
appeal had been presented. Kistenevka therefore belonged
to Troekouroff. Shabashkin came to him, and with a pro-
fusion of salutations and congratulations, inquired when His
Excellency intended to enter into possession of his newly-
acquired property — would he go and do so himself, or
would he deign to commission somebody else to act as hisj
representative ?

Kirila Petrovitch felt troubled. By nature he was not^
avaricious ; his desire for revenge had carried him too far,
and he now felt the rebukings of his conscience. He knew
in what condition his adversary, the old comrade of his
youth, lay, and his victory brought no joy to his heart. He
glared sternly at Shabashkin, seeking for some pretext to

DOUBROVSKY. 175

vent his displeasure upon him, but not finding a suitable
lone, he said to him in an angry tone :

" Be off ! I do not want you ! "

Shabashkin, seeing that he was not in a good humour,
bowed and hastened to withdraw, and Kirila Petrovitch, left
alone, began to pace up and down, whistling: "Thunder of
victory resound ! " which, with him, was always a sure sign
of unusual agitation of mind.

At last he gave orders for the droshky ^ to be got ready,
wrapped himself up warmly (it was already the end of
September), and, himself holding the reins, drove out of the
courtyard.

He soon caught sight of the house of Andrei Gavrilovitch.
Contradictory feelings filled his soul. Satisfied vengeance
and love of power had, to a certain extent, deadened his
more noble sentiments, but at last these latter prevailed.
He resolved to effect a reconciliation with his old neighbour,
to efface the traces of the quarrel and restore to him his
property. Having eased his soul with this good intention,
Kirila Petrovitch set off at a gallop towards the residence
of his neighbour and drove straight into the courtyard.

At that moment the invalid was sitting at his bedroom
(vindow. He recognized Kirila Petrovitch— and his face
issumed an expression of terrible emotion : a livid flush re-
placed his usual pallor, his eyes gleamed and he uttered a
few unintelligible sounds. His son, who was sitting there
xamining the account books, raised his head and was struck
ay the change in his father's condition. The sick man
Dointed with his finger towards the courtyard with an expres-
sion of rage and horror. At that moment the voice and
leavy tread of Egorovna were heard :

** Master, master! Kirila Petrovitch has come! Kirila

^ A low four-wheeled carriage.

176 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Petrovitch is on the steps ! " she cried. . . . ** Lord God !
What is the matter ? What has happened to him ? "

Andrei Gavrilovitch had hastily gathered up the skirts of
his dressing-gown and was preparing to rise from his arm-
chair. He succeeded in getting upon his feet — and then
suddenly fell. His son rushed towards him ; the old man
lay insensible and without breathing : he had been attacked
by paralysis.

" Quick, quick ! hasten to the town for a doctor ! " cried
Vladimir.

" Kirila Petrovitch is asking for you," said a servant,
entering the room.

Vladimir gave him a terrible look.

" Tell Kirila Petrovitch to take himself off as quickly as
possible, before I have him turned out — go ! "

The servant gladly left the room to execute his master's
orders. Egorovna raised her hands to heaven.

" Little father," she exclaimed in a piping voice," you
will lose your head ! Kirila Petrovitch will eat us all
up."

" Silence, nurse," said Vladimir angrily : " send Anton at
once to the town for a doctor."

Egorovna left the room. There was nobody in the ante-
chamber ; all the domestics had run out into the courtyard
to look at Kirila Petrovitch. She went out on the steps and
heard the servant deliver his young master's reply. Kirila
Petrovitch heard it, seated in the droshky ; his face be-
came darker than night ; he smiled contemptuously, looked
threateningly at the assembled domestics, and then drove
slowly out of the courtyard. He glanced up at the window
where, a minute before, Andrei Gavrilovitch had been
sitting, but he was no longer there. The nurse remained
standing on the steps, forgetful of her master's injunctions.
The domestics were noisily talking of what had just occurred

DOUBROVSKY. 1 77

Suddenly Vladimir appeared in the midst of them, and said
abruptly :

"There is no need for a doctor — my father is dead ! "
General consternation followed these words. The domes-
tics rushed to the room of their old master. He was lying
in the armchair in which Vladimir had placed him ; his right
arm hung down to the ground, his head was bent forward
upon his chest — there was not the least sign of life in his
body, which, not yet cold, was already disfigured by death,
Egorovna set up a howl. The domestics surrounded the
corpse, which was left to their care, washed it, dressed it in
a uniform made in the year 1797, amd laid it out on the same
,table at which for so many years they had waited upon their
master.

^

178

CHAPTER V.

THE funeral took place the third day. The body of the
poor old man lay in the coffin, covered with a shroud
and surrounded by candles. The dining-room was filled
with domestics, ready to carry out the corpse. Vladimir
and the servants raised the coffin. The priest went in front,
followed by the clerk, chanting the prayers for the dead.
The master of Kistenevka crossed the threshold of his house
for the last time. The coffin was carried through the wood
— the church lay just behind it. The day was clear and
cold ; the autumn leaves were falling from the trees. On
emerging from the wood, they saw before them the wooden
church of Kistenevka and the cemetery shaded by old lime
trees. There reposed the body of Vladimir's mother ; there,
be'^ide her tomb, a new grave had been dug the day before.
The church was full of the Kistenevka peasantry, come to
render the last homage to their master. Young Doubrovsky
stood in the chancel ; he neither wept nor prayed, but the
expression of his face was terrible. The sad ceremony came
to an end. Vladimir approached first to take leave of the
corpse, after him came the domestics. The lid was brought
and nailed upon the coffin. The women wept aloud, and
the men frequently wiped away their tears with their fists.
Vladimir and three of the servants carried the coffin to the
cemetery, accompanied by the whole village. The coffin
was lowered into the grave, all present threw upon it a hand-
ful of earth, the pit was filled up, the crowd saluted for the
last time and then dispersed. Vladimir hastily departed,

DOUBROVSKY. 1 79

got ahead of everybody, and disappeared into the Kistenevka
wood.

Egorovna, in the name of her master, invited the pope
and all the clergy to a funeral dinner, informing them that
her young master did not intend being present.

Then Father Anissim, his wife Fedorovna and the clerk
took their way to the manor-house, discoursing with Egorovna
upon the virtues of the deceased and upon what, in all pro-
bability, awaited his heir. The visit of Troekouroff and the
reception given to him were already known to the whole
neighbourhood, and the local politicians predicted that
serious consequences would result from it.

" What is to be, will be," said the pope's wife : " but it
will be a pity if Vladimir Andreivitch does not become our
master. He is a fine young fellow, there is no denying
that."

** And who is to be our master if he is not to be ? " inter-
rupted Egorovna. " Kirila Petrovitch need not put himself
out — he has not got a coward to deal with. My young
falcon will know how to defend himself, and with God's
help, he will not lack friends. Kirila Petrovitch is too
overweening ; and yet he slunk away with his tail between
his legs when my Grishka ^ cried out to him : * Be off, you
old cur ! Clear out of the place ! ' "

" Oh ! Egorovna," said the clerk, " however could he
bring his tongue to utter such words ? I think I would rather
bring myself to face the devil, than look askant at Kirila
Petrovitch. As you look at him, you become terrified, and
your very backbone seems to curve ! "

" Vanity, vanity ! " said the priest : " the service for the
dead will some day be chanted for Kirila Petrovitch, as to-
day for Andrei Gavrilovitch ; the funeral may perhaps be

* Diminutive of Gregory.
N

i8o poushkin's prose tales.

more imposing, and more guests may be invited ; but are
not all equal in the sight of God ? "

" Oh, father, we wanted to invite all the neighbourhood,
but Vladimir Andreivitch did not wish it. Don't be
alarmed, we have plenty to entertain people with. . . . but
what would you have had us do ? At all events, if there are
not many people, I can treat you well, my dear friends."

This enticing promise and the hope of finding a toothsome
pie, caused the talkers to quicken their steps, and they
safely reached the manor-house, where the table was already
laid and brandy served out.

Meanwhile Vladimir advanced further into the depth ot
the wood, endeavouring by exercise and fatigue to deaden
the affliction of his soul. He walked on without taking any
notice of the road ; the branches constantly grazed and
scratched him, and his feet continually sank into the swamp
— he observed nothing. At last he reached a small glade
surrounded by trees on every side ; a little stream wound
silently through the trees, half-stripped of their leaves by the
autumn. Vladimir stopped, sat down upon the cold turf,
and thoughts, each more gloomy than the other, oppressed
his soul. . . . He felt his loneliness very keenly ; the future
appeared to him enveloped in terrible clouds. Troekou-
roff's enmity foreboded fresh misfortunes for him. His
modest heritage might pass from him into the hands of
a stranger, in which case beggary awaited him. For a long
time he sat quite motionless in the same place, observing
the gentle flow of the stream, bearing along on its surface a
few withered leaves, and vividly representing to him the
analogy of life. At last he observed that it began to grow
dark ; he arose and sought for the road home, but for a long
time he wandered about the unknown wood before he
stumbled upon the path which led straight up to the gate of
his house.

DOUBROVSKY. l8l

He had not gone far before he met the priest coming to-
wards him with all his clergy. The thought immediately
occurred to him that this foreboded misfortune.^ He involun-
tarily turned aside and disappeared behind the trees. The
priests had not observed him, and they continued talking very
earnestly among themselves.

" Fly from evil and do good," said the priest to his wife.
" There is no need for us to remain here ; it does not con-
cern us, however the business may end."

The priest's wife made some reply, but Vladimir could not
hear what she said.

Approaching the house, he saw a crowd of people ; peas-
ants and servants of the household were flocking into the
courtyard. In the distance Vladimir could hear an unusual
noise and murmur of voices. Near the coach-house stood
two troikas. On the steps several unknown men in uniform
were seemingly engaged in conversation.

"What does this mean?" he asked angrily of Anton,
who ran forward to meet him. " Who are these people, and
what do they want ? "

" Oh, father Vladimir Andreivitch," replied Anton, out
of breath, " the Court has come. They are giving us over to
Troekouroff, they are taking us from your Honour ! . . ."

Vladimir hung down his head; his people surrounded
their unhappy master.

"You are our father," they cried, kissing his hands.
" We want no other master but you. We will die, but
we will not leave you. Give us the order, Your Lordship,
and we will soon settle matters with the Court."

Vladimir looked at them, and dark thoughts rose within
him.

" Keep quiet," he said to them : " I will speak to the
officers."

^ To meet a priest is considered a bad omen in Russia.

1 82 poushkin's prose tales.

** That's it — speak to them, father," shouted the crowd :
" put the accursed wretches to shame ! "

Vladimir approached the officials. Shabashkin, with his
cap on his head, stood with his arms akimbo, looking
proudly around him. The sheriff, a tall stout man, of about
fifty years of age, with a red face and a moustache, seeing
Doubrovsky approach, cleared his throat and called out in a
hoarse voice :

" And therefore I repeat to you what I have already
said : by the decision of the district Court, you now belong
to Kirila Petrovitch Troekouroff, who is here represented by
M. Shabashkin. Obey him in everything that he orders
you ; and you, women, love and honour him, as he loves you."

At this witty joke the sheriff began to laugh. Shabashkin
and the other officials followed his example. Vladimir
boiled over with indignation.

" Allow me to ask, what does all this mean ? " he inquired,
with pretended calmness, of the jocular sheriff.

" It means," replied the witty official, *' that we have come
to place Kirila Petrovitch Troekouroff in possession of this
property, and to request certain others to take themselves ofi
for good arid all 1 "

" But I think that you could have communicated all this to
me first, rather than to my peasants, and announced to the
landholder the decision of the authorities "

"The former landowner, Andrei G^vrilovitch, is dead
according to the will of God; but who are you?" said
Shabashkin, with an insolent look. " We do not know you,
and we don't want to know you."

" Your Honour, that is our young master," said a voice in
the crowd.

" Who dared to open his mouth ? " said the sheriff, in a
terrible tone. " That your master ? Your master is KiriU
• Petrovitch Troekouroff. .... do you hear, idiots ? "

DOUBROVSKY. 1 83

" Nothing of the kind ! " said the same voice.

" But this is a revolt ! " shrieked the sheriff. " Hi, baiHff,
this way ! "

The baiHff stepped forward.

*' Find out immediately who it was that dared to answer
me. I'll teach him a lesson ! "

The bailiff turned towards the crowd and asked who had
spoken. But all remained silent. Soon a murmur was
heard at the back; it gradually grew louder, and in a
minute it broke out into a terrible wail. The sheriff
lowered his voice and was about to try to persuade them
to be calm.

" Why do you stand looking at him ? " cried the servants :
" Come on, lads, forward ! " And the crowd began to move.

Shabashkin and the other members of the Court rushed
mto the vestibule, and closed the door behind them.

" Seize them, lads ! " cried the same voice, and the crowd
pressed forward.

" Hold ! " cried Doubrovsky : " idiots ! what are you
doing ? You will ruin yourselves and me, too. Go home
all of you, and leave me to ihyself. Don't fear, the Czar is
merciful : I will present a petition to him — he will not let us
be made the victims of an injustice. We are all his children.
But how can he take your part, if you begin rebelling and
plundering ? "

This speech of young Doubrovsky's, his sonorous voice
and imposing appearance, produced the desired effect. The
crowd became quiet and dispersed ; the courtyard became
empty, the officials of the Court still remained inside the
house. Vladimir sadly ascended the steps. Shabashkin
opened the door, and with obsequious bows began to thank
Doubrovsky for his generous intervention.

Vladimir listened to him with contempt and made no
reply.

184 poushkin's prose tales.

"We have resolved," continued the assessor, "with your
permission, to remain here for the night, as it is already
dark, and your peasants might attack us on the road. Be
kind enough to order some hay to be put down for us on
the parlour floor ; as soon as it is daylight, we will take our
departure."

" Do what you please," replied Doubrovsky drily : " I am
no longer master here."

With these words he entered into his father's room and
locked the door behind hira.

185

CHAPTER VI.

" A ND so, all is finished!" said Vladimir to himself.
J~\. " This morning I had a corner and a piece of
bread ; to-morrow I must leave the house where I was born.
My father, with the ground where he reposes, will belong to
that hateful man, the cause of his death and of my
ruin ! " . . . Vladimir clenched his teeth and fixed his eyes
upon the portrait of his mother. The artist had represented
her leaning upon a balustrade, in a white morning dress,
with a rose in her hair.

" And that portrait will fall into the hands of the enemy
of my family," thought Vladimir. " It will be thrown into a
lumber room together with broken chairs, or hung up in the
ante-room, to become an object of derision for his dog-
keepers ; and in her bedroom, in the room where my father
died, will be installed his bailiff, or his harem. No, no ! he
shall not have possession of the house of mourning, from
which he is driving me out."

Vladimir clenched his teeth again ; terrible thoughts rose
up in his mind. The voices of the officials reached him ;
they were giving their orders, demanding first one thing and
then another, and disagreeably disturbing him in the midst
of his painful meditations.

At last all became quiet.

Vladimir unlocked the drawers and boxes and began to
examine the papers of the deceased. They consisted for the
most part of farming accounts and letters connected with
various matters of business. Vladimir tore them up without

1 86 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

reading them. Among them he came across a packet with
the inscription : " Letters from my wife." A prey to deep
emotion, Vladimir began to read them. They had been
written during the Turkish campaign, and were addressed to
the army from Kistenevka. Madame Doubrovsky described
to her husband her life in the country and her business con-
cerns, complained with tenderness of the separation, and
implored him to return home as soon as possible to the arms
of his loving wife. In one of these letters, she expressed to
him her anxiety concerning the health of little Vladimir ; in
another she rejoiced over his early intelligence, and pre.
dieted for him a happy and brilliant future. Vladimir was
so absorbed in his reading, that he forgot everything else in
the world as his mind conjured up visions of domestic
happiness, and he did not observe how the time was passing :
the clock upon the wall struck eleven. Vladimir placed the
letters in his pocket, took up a candle and left the room. In
the parlour the officials were sleeping on the floor. Upon
the table were tumblers which they had emptied, and a
strong smell of rum pervaded the entire room. Vladimir
turned from them with disgust, and passed into the ante-
room. There all was dark. Somebody, seeing the light,
crouched into a corner. Turning the light towards him,
Vladimir recognized Arkhip the blacksmith.

" Why are you here ? " he asked, in surprise.

" I wanted — I came to find out if they were all in the
house," replied Arkhip, in a low faltering voice.

" And why have you got your axe ? "

" Why have I got my axe ? Can anybody go about now-
adays without an axe ? These officials are such impudent
knaves, that one never knows "

*' You are drunk ; throw the axe down and go to bed."

" I drunk ? Father Vladimir Andreivitch, God is my
witness that not a single drop of brandy has passed my

DOUBROVSKY. 1 8/

lips, nor has the thought of such a thing entered my mind.
Was ever such a thing heard of? These clerks have taken
it into their heads to rule over us and to drive our master

out of the manor-house How they snore, the

wretches ! I should like to put an end to the whole lot of
them at once."

Doubrovsky frowned.

** Listen, Arkhip," said he, after a short pause : " Get
such ideas out of your head. It is not the fault of the
officials. Light the lantern and follow me."

Arkhip took the candle out of his master's hand, found
the lantern behind the stove, lit it, and then both of them
softly descended the steps and proceeded around the court-
yard. The watchman began beating upon an iron plate ; the
dogs commenced to bark.

** Who is on the watch ? " asked Doubrovsky.

** We, little father," replied a thin voice : " Vassilissa and
Loukeria."

" Go home," said Doubrovsky to them, " you are not
wanted."

" You can have a holiday," added Arkhip.

" Thank you, benefactor," replied the women, and they
immediately returned home.

Doubrovsky walked on further. Two men approached
him : they challenged him, and Doubrovsky recognized the
voices of Anton and Grisha.

" Why are you not in bed and asleep ? " he asked them.

'* This is no time for us to think of sleep," replied Anton.
*' Who would have thought that we should ever have come
to this?"

"Softly," interrupted Doubrovsky. "Where is Ego-
rovna ? "

" In the manor-house, in her room," replied Grisha.

** Go and bring her here, and make all our people get out

1 88 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

of the house; let not a soul remain in it except the
officials ; and you, Anton, get the cart ready."
. Grisha departed; a minute afterwards he returned with
his mother. The old woman had not undressed that night ;
with the exception of the officials, nobody closed an eye.

** Are all here ?" asked Doubrovsky. " Has anybody been
left in the house ? "

•* Nobody, except the clerks," replied Grisha.

" Bring here some hay or some straw," said Doubrovsky.

The servants ran to the stables and returned with armfuls
of hay.

'* Put it under the steps — that's it Now, my lads, a
light!"

Arkhip opened the lantern and Doubrovsky kindled a
torch.

" Wait a moment," said he to Arkhip : " I think, in my
hurry, that I locked the doors of *the hall. Go quickly and
open them."

Arkhip ran to the vestibule : the doors were opeiL He
locked them, muttering in an undertone : "It's likely that
I'll leave them open ! " and then returned to Doubrovsky.

Doubrovsky applied the torch to the hay, which burst
into a blaze, the flames rising to a great height and illumi-
nating the whole courtyard.

" Alas ! " cried Egorovna plaintively : " Vladimir Andrei-
vitch, what are you doing?"

" Silence ! " said Doubrovsky. " Now, children, fare-
well ! I am going where God may direct me. Be happy
with your new master."

"Our father, our benefactor!" cried the peasants, "we
will die — but we will not leave you, we will go with you."

The horses were ready. Doubrovsky took his seat in the
cart with Grisha ; Anton whipped the horses and they drove
out of the courtyard.

DOUBROVSKY. l8g

In one moment the whole house was enveloped in flames
The floors cracked and gave way; the burning beams
began to fall ; a red smoke rose above the roof, and there
arose piteous groans and cries of ** Help, help ! "

"Shout away ! " said Arkhip, with a malicious smile, con-
templating the fire.

" Dear Arkhip," said Egorovna to him, ** save them, the
scoundrels, and God will reward you."

" Let them shout," replied the blacksmith.

At that moment the oflicials appeared at the window,
endeavouring to burst the double sash. But at the same
instant the roof fell in with a crash — and the cries ceased.

Soon all the peasants came pouring into the courtyard.
The women, screaming wildly, hastened to save their eff'ects ;
the children danced about admiring the conflagration.
The sparks flew up in a fiery shower, setting light to the
huts.

" Now everything is right ! " said Arkhip. ** How it
burns ! It must be a' grand sight frcim Pokrovskoe."

At that moment a new apparition attracted his attention.
A cat ran along the roof of a burning barn, without knowing
where to leap from. Flames surrounded it on every side.
The poor creature cried for help with plaintive mewings;
the children screamed with laughter on seeing its despair.

" What are you laughing at, you little demons? " said the
blacksmith, angrily. ** Do you not fear God? One of God's
creatures is perishing, and you rejoice over it." Then
placing a ladder against the burning roof, /he mounted up
towards the cat. She understood his intention, and, with
grateful eagerness, clutched hold of his sleeve. The half-
burnt blacksmith descended with his burden.

"And now, lads, good bye," he said to the dismayed
peasants : " there is nothing more for me to do here. May
you be happy. Do not think too badly of mQ,"

I90 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

The blacksmith took his departure. The fire raged for
some time longer, and at last went out. Piles of red-hot
embers glowed brightly in the darkness of the night, while
round about them wandered the burnt-out inhabitants of
Kistenevka.

IQI

CHAPTER VII.

THE next day the news of the fire spread -through all
the neighbourhood. Everybody explained it in a
different way. Some maintained that Doubrovsky's servants,
having got drunk at the funeral, had set fire to the house
through carelessness ; others blamed the officials, who were
drunk also in their new quarters. Some guessed the truth,
and affirmed that the author of the terrible calamity was
Doubrovsky himself, urged on to the committal of the deed
by the promptings of resentment and despair. Many main-
tained that he had himself perished in the flames with the
officials and all his servants.

Troekouroff came the next day to the scene of the con-
flagration, and conducted the inquest himself. It was
stated that the sheriff, the assessor of the land Court, the
attorney and his clerk, as well as Vladimir Doubrovsky, the
nurse Egorovna, the servant Grisha, the coachman Anton,
and the blacksmith Arkhip had disappeared — nobody knew
where. All the servants declared that the officials perished
at the moment when the roof fell in. Their charred re-
mains in fact were discovered. The women, Vassilissa and
Loukeria, said that they had seen Doubrovsky and Arkhip
the blacksmith a few minutes before the fire. The black-
smith Arkhip, according to the general showing, was
alive, and was probably the principal, if not the sole
author of the fire. Strong suspicions fell upon Dou-

s

192 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

brovsky. Kirila Petrovitch sent to the Governor a detailed
account of all that had happened, and a new suit was
commenced.

Soon other reports furnished fresh food for curiosity and
gossip. Brigands appeared and spread terror throughout
the whole neighbourhood. The measures taken against
them proved unavailing. Robberies, each more daring
than the other, followed one after another. There was no
security either on the roads or in the villages. Several
troikas^ filled with brigands, traversed the whole province
in open daylight, stopping travellers and the mail. The
villages were visited by them, and the manor-houses were
attacked and set on fire. The chief ^of the band had
acquired a great reputation for intelligence, daring, and a
sort of generosity. Wonders were related of him. The
name of Doubrovsky was upon every lip. Everybody was
convinced that it was he, and nobody else, who commanded
the daring robbers. One thing was remarkable : the
domains and property of Troekouroff were spared. The
brigands had not attacked a single barn of his, nor stopped
a single load belonging to him. With his usual arrogance,
Troekouroff attributed this exception to the fear which he
had inspired throughout the whole province, as well as to
the excellent police which he had organized in his villages.
At first the neighbours smiled at the presumption of Troe-
kouroff, and everyone expected that the uninvited guests
would visit Pokrovskoe, where they would find something
worth having, but at last they were compelled to agree and
confess that the brigands showed him unaccountable respect.
Troekouroff triumphed, and at the news of each fresh ex-
ploit on the part of Doubrovsky, he indulged in ironical
remarks at the expense of the Governor, the sheriffs, and
the regimental commanders, who always allowed the brigand
chief to escape with impunity.

DOUBROVSKY. I93

Meanwhile the ist of October arrived, the day of the
annual church festival in Troekouroff's village. But before
we proceed to describe further events, we must acquaint the
reader with some personages who are new to him, or whom
we merely mentioned at the beginning of our story.

X

194

CHAPTER VIII.

THE reader has probably already divined that the
daughter of Kirila Petrovitch, of whom we have as
yet said but very little, is the heroine of our story. At the
period about which we are writing, she was seventeen years
old, and in the full bloom of her beauty. Her father loved her
to the verge of folly, but treated her with his charatteristic
wilfulness, at one time endeavouring to gratify her slightest
whims, at another terrifying her by his coarse ^nd some-
times brutal behaviour. Convinced of her attachment, he
c:nild yet never gain her confidence. . She was accustomed
to conceal from hinv her thoughts and feelings, because she
never knew in what manner they would be received. She
had no companions, and had grown up in solitude. The
wives and daughters of the neighbours rarely visited at the
house of Kirila Petrovitch, whose usual conversation and
amusements demanded the companionship of men, and not
the presence of ladies. Our beauty rarely appeared among
the guests who were invited to her father's house. The
extensive library, consisting for the most part of works of
French writers of the eighteenth century, was given over to
her charge. Her father never read anything except the
" Perfect Cook," and could not guide her in the choice of
books, and Masha, after having dipped into works of various
kinds, had naturally given her preference to romances. In
this manner she went on completing her education, first
begun upder the direction of Mademoiselle Micheau, in
whom Kirila Petrovitch reposed great confidence, and whom

DOUBROVSKY. I95

he was at last obliged to send away secretly to another
estate, when the results of this friendship became too
apparent.

Mademoiselle Micheau left behind her a rather agreeable
recollection. She was a good-natured girl, and had never
misused the influence which she evidently exercised over
Kirila Petrovitch, in which she differed from the other
confidants, whom he constantly kept changing. Kirila Petro-
vitch himself seemed to like her more than the others, and a
dark-eyed, roguish-looking little fellow of nine, recalling
the southern features of Mademoiselle Micheau, was being
brought up by him and was recognized as his son, notwith-
standing the fact that quite a number of bare-footed lads
ran about in front of his windows, who were as like Kirila
Petrovitch as one drop of water is to another, and who were
inscribed as forming part of his household. Kirila Petro-
yitch had sent to Moscow for a French tutor for his little
son, Sasha,^ and this tutor came to Pokrovskoe at the time
of the events that we are now describing.

This tutor, by his prepossessing appearance and simple
manners, produced a very agreeable impression upon the
mind of Kirila Petrovitch. He presented to the latter his
credentials, and a letter from one of Troekouroff's relations,
with whom he had lived as tutor for four years. Kirila
Petrovitch examined all these, and was dissatisfied only with
the youthfulness of the Frenchman, not because he con-
sidered this agreeable defect incompatible with the patience
and experience necessary for the unhappy calling of a tutor,
but because he had doubts of his own, which he immediately
resolved to have cleared up. For this purpose he ordered
Masha to be sent %o him. Kirila Petrovitch did not speak
French, and she acted as interpreter for him.

* Diminutive of Alexander.
O

196 poushkin's prose tales.

"Come here, Masha: tell this Monsieur that I accept
him only on condition that he does not venture to pay court
to my girls, for if he should do so, the son of a dog, I'll . . .
Translate that to him, Masha."

Masha blushed, and turning to the tutor, told him in
French that her father counted upon his modesty and orderly
conduct.

The Frenchman bowed to her, and replied that he hoped
to merit esteem, even if favour were not shown to him-

Masha translated his reply word for word.

" Very well, very well," said Kirila Petrovitch, " he needs
neither favour nor esteem. His business is to look after
Sasha and teach him grammar and geography — translate
that to him."

Maria Kirilovna softened the rude expressions of her
father in translating them, and Kirila Petrovitch dismissed
his Frenchman to the wing of the house in which his room
was situated. ,

Masha had not given a thought to the young Frenchman.
Brought up with aristocratic prejudices, a tutor, in her eyes,
was only a sort of servant or artizan ; and servants or artizans
did not seem to her to be men at all. Nor did she observe
the impression that she had produced upon Monsieur
Desforges, nor his confusion, nor his agitation, nor the
tremor in his voice. For several days afterwards, she met
him very frequently, but without honouring him with much
attention. In an unexpected manner, however, she received
quite a new impression with respect to him.

In the courtyard of Kirila Petrovitch there were usually
kept several young bears, and they formed one of the chief
amusements of the master of Pokrovskoe. While they were
young, they were brought every day into the parlour, where
Kirila Petrovitch used to spend whole hours in amusing
himself with them, setting them at cats and young dogs.

DOUBROVSKY. 197

When they were grown up, they were attached to a chain,
to await being baited in earnest. Sometimes they were
brought out in front of the windows of the manor-house, and
an empty wine-cask, studded with nails, was put before them.
The bear would sniff it, then touch it gently, and getting its
paws pricked, it would become angry and push the cask
with greater force, and so wound itself still more. The
beast would then work itself into a perfect frenzy, and fling
itself upon the cask, growling furiously, until they removed
from the poor animal the'object of its vain rage. Sometimes
a pair of bears were harnessed to a telega^ then, willingly or
unwillingly, guests were placed in it, and the bears were
allowed to gallop wherever chance might direct them. But
the best joke of Kirila Petrovitch's was as follows :

A starving bear used to be shut up in an empty room and
fastened by a rope to a ring screwed into the wall. The
rope was nearly the length of the room, so that only the
opposite corner was out of the reach of the ferocious beast.
A novice was generally brought to the door of this room, and,
as if by accident, pushed in along with the bear ; the door
was then locked, and the unhappy victim was left alone with
the shaggy hermit. The poor guest, with torn skirts and
scratched hands, soon sought the safe corner, but he was
sometimes compelled to stand for three whole hours,
pressed against the wall, watching the savage beast, two
steps from him, leaping and standing on its hind legs,
growling, tugging at the rope and endeavouring to reach
him. Such were the noble amusements of a Russian
gentleman !

Some days after the arrival of the French tutor, Troekouroff
thought of him, and resolved to give him a taste of the bear's
room. For this purpose, he summoned him one morning,
and conducted him along several dark corridors; suddenly
a side door opened — two servants pushed the Frenchman

198 poushkin's prose tales.

into the room and locked the door after him. Recovering
from his surprise, the tutor perceived the chained bear. The
animal began to snort and to sniff at his visitor from a dis-
tance, and suddenly raising himself upon his hind legs, he ad-
vanced towards him. . . . The Frenchman was not alarmed ;
he did not retreat but awaited the attack. The bear drew
near ; Desforges drew from his pocket a small pistol, inserted
it in the ear of the hungry animal, and fired. The bear rolled
over. • Everybody was attracted to the spot by the report,
the door was opened, and Kirila Petrovitch entered, as-
tonished at the result of his joke.

Kirila Petrovitch wanted an explanation of the whole
affair. Who had warned Desforges of the joke, or how
came he to have a loaded pistol in his pocket ? He sent
for Masha. Masha came and interpreted her father's
questions to the Frenchman.

" I never heard even of the existence of the bear,*' replied
Desforges, "but I always carry a pistol about with me,
because I do not intend to put up with an offence for which,
on account of my calling, I cannot demand satisfaction."

Masha looked at him in astonishment and translated his
words to Kirila Petrovitch. Kirila Petrovitch made no
reply ; he ordered the bear to be removed and its skin to be
taken off; then turning to his people, he said :

" What a brave fellow ! There is nothing of the coward
about him. By the Lord, he is certainly no coward ! "

From that moment he took a liking to Desforges, and
never thought again of putting him to the proof.

But this incident produced a still greater impression upon
Maria Kirilovna. Her imagination had been struck: she
had seen the dead bear, and Desforges standing calmly over
it and talking tranquilly to her. She saw that bravery and
proud self-respect did not belong exclusively to one class,
and from that moment she began to show regard for the

DOUBROVSKY. I99

young tutor, and this regard increased from day to day. A
certain intimacy sprang up between them. Masha had a
beautiful voice and great musical ability ; Desforges proposed
to give her lessons. After that it will not be difficult for the
reader to understand that Masha fell in love with him with-
out acknowledging it to herself.

X

200

CHAPTER IX.

ON the eve of the festival, of which we have already
spoken, the guests began to arrive at Pokrovskoe.
Some were accommodated at the manor-house and in the
wings attached to it ; others in the house of the bailiflf ; a
third party was quartered upon the priest; and the re-
mainder upon the better class of peasants. The stables
were filled with the horses of the visitors, and the yards and
coach-houses were crowded with vehicles of every sort. At
nine o^clock in the morning the bells rang for mass, and
everybody repaired to the new stone church, built by Kirila
Petrovitch and annually enriched by his offerings. The
church was soon crowded with such a number of dis-
tinguished worshippers, that the simple peasants could find
no room within the edifice, and had to stand beneath the
porch and inside the railings. The mass had not yet begun :
they were waiting for Kirila Petrovitch. He arrived at last
in a caleche drawn by six horses, and walked proudly to his
place, accompanied by Maria Kirilovna. The eyes of both
men and women were turned upon her — the former were
astonished at her beauty, the latter examined her dress with
great attention.

The mass began. The household singers sang in the
choir, and Kirila Petrovitch joined in with them. He prayed
without looking either to the right or to the left, and with
proud humility he bowed himself to the ground when the
deacon in a loud voice mentioned the name of the founder
of the church.

DOUBROVSKY. 20I

The mass came to an end.^ Kirila Petrovitch was the
first to kiss the crucifix. All the others followed him ; the
neighbours approached him with respect, the ladies sur-
rounded Masha. Kirila Petrovitch, on issuing from the
church, invited everybody to dine with him, then he seated
himself in the caliche and drove home. All the guests
followed after him.

The rooms ibegan to fill with the visitors ; every moment
new faces appeared, and it was with difficulty that the host
could be approached. The ladies sat decorously in a
semicircle, dressed in antiquated fashion, in dresses of
faded but expensive material, all covered with pearls and
briUiants. The men crowded round the caviar"^ and the
vodka^ conversing among themselves with great animation.
In the dining-room the table was laid for eighty persons ;
the servants were bustling about, arranging the bottles and
decanters and adjusting the table-cloths.

At last the house-steward announced that dinner was
ready. Kirila Petrovitch went first and took his seat at
the table; the ladies followed after him, and took theii
places with an air of great gravity, observing a sort of
precedence as they did so. The young ladies crowded
together like a timid herd of kids, and took their places
next to one another. Opposite to them sat the gentlemen.
At the end of the table sat the tutor by the side of the little
Sasha.

The servants began to pass the plates round according to
the rank of the guests ; when they were in doubt about the
latter point, they allowed themselves to be guided by
instinct, and their guesses were nearly always correct.
The noise of the plates and spoons mingled with the loud

^ At the end' of the service in the Russian Church, all the members
of the congregation kiss the crucifix.
^ The roes of sturgeons prepared and salted. • Brandy,

202 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

talk of the guests. Kirila Petrovitch looked gaily round his
table and thoroughly enjoyed the happiness of being able
to provide such a hospitable entertainment. At that
moment a calbche, drawn by six horses, drove into the
yard.

" Who is that ? " asked the host.

" Anton Pafnoutitch," replied several voices.

The doors opened, and Anton Pafnoutitch Spitsin, a
stout man of about fifty years of age, with a round pock-
marked face, adorned with a treble chin, rolled into the
dining-room, bowing, smiling, and preparing to make his
excuses.

" A cover here ! " cried Kirila Petrovitch. " Pray sit
down, Anton Pafnoutitch, and tell us what this means :
you were not at my mass, and you are late for dinner.
This is not like you. You are devout, and you love good
cheer."

" Pardon me," replied Anton Pafnoutitch, fastening his
serviette in the button-hole of his coat : "pardon me, little
father Kirila Petrovitch, I started early on my journey, but
I had not gone ten versts, when suddenly the tire of the
front wheel snapped in two. What was to be done?
Fortunately it was not far from the village. But by the
time we had arrived there, and had found a blacksmith,
and had got everything put to rights, three hours had
elapsed. It could not be helped. To take the shortest
route through the wood of Kistenevka, I did not dare,
so we came the longest way round."

"Ah, ah!" interrupted Kirila Petrovitch, "it is evident
that you do not belong to the brave ten. What are you
afraid of?"

"How, what am I afraid of, little father Kirila Petro-
vitch ? And Doubrovsky ? I might have fallen into his
clutches. He is a young man who never misses his aim —

DOUBROVSKY. 203

he lets nobody off ; and I am afraid he would have flayed
we twice over, had he got hold of me."

** Why, brother, such a distinction ? "

"Why, father Kirila Petrovitch? Have you forgotten
the lawsuit of the late Andrei Gavrilovitch ? Was it not I
who, to please you, that is to say, according to conscience
and justice, showed that Doubrovsky held possession of
Kistenevka without having any right to it, and solely
through your condescension ; and did not the deceased —
God rest his soul ! — vow that he would settle with me in his owi^
way, and might not the son keep his father's word ? Hither-
to the Lord has been merciful to me. Up to the present tliey
have only plundered one of my barns, but one of these days
they may find their way to the manor-house."

" Where they would find a rich booty," observed Kirila
Petrovitch : " I have no doubt that the little red cash-box
is as full as it can be."

" Not so, father Kirila Petrovitch ; there was a time when
it was full, but now it is perfectly empty."

" Don't tell lies, Anton Pafiioutitch. We know you.
Where do you spend money? At home you live like
^ pig> yo^ never receive anybody, and you fleece your
peasants. You do nothing with your money but hoard it up."

" You are only joking, father Kirila Petrovitch," mur-
mured Anton Pafnoutitch, smiling; **but I swear to you
that we are ruined," and Anton Pafnoutitch swallowed
his host's joke with a greasy piece of fish pasty.

Kirila Petrovitch left him and turned to the new sheriff",
who was his guest for the first time and who was sitting at
the other end of the table, near the tutor.

"Well, Mr. Sheriff, give us a proof of your cleverness:
catch Doubrovsky for us."

The sheriff looked disconcerted, bowed, smiled, stam-
mered, and said at last :

204 poushkin's prose tales.

" We will try, Your Excellency."

" H'm ! we will try ! ' You have been trying for a long
time to rid our country of brigands. Nobody knows how to
set about the business. And, after all, why try to catch
him ? Doubrovsky's robberies are a blessing to the sheriffs :
what with investigations, travelling expenses, and the money
they put into their pockets. He will never be caught
Why should such a benefactor be put down? Isn't that
true, Mr. Sheriff?"

" Perfectly true, Your Excellency," replied the completely
confused sheriff.

The guests roared with laughter.

" I like the fellow for his frankness," said Kirila Petro-
vitch : " but it is a pity that our late sheriff is no longer with
us. If he had not been burnt, the neighbourhood would have
been quieter. And what news of Doubrovsky ? Where was
he last seen?"

" At my house, Kirila Petrovitch," said a female voice :
"last Tuesday he dined with me."

All eyes were turned towards Anna Savishna Globova,
a very simple widow, beloved by everybody for her kind and
cheerful disposition. Everyone prepared to listen to her
story with the deepest interest.

" You must know that three weeks ago I sent my steward
to the post with a letter for my Vaniusha.^ I do not spoil
my son, and moreover I haven't the means of spoiling him,
even if I wished to do so. However, you know very well
that an officer of the Guards must live in a suitable style,
and I share my income with Vaniusha as well as I can.
Well, I sent two thousand roubles to him ; and although the
thought of Doubrovsky came more than once into my mind,
I thought to myself: the town is not far off — only seven
versts altogether, perhaps God will order all things for the
^ Diminutive of Ivan.

DOUBROVSKY. 205

best. But what happens? In the evening my steward
returns, pale, tattered, and on foot. * What is the matter ?
What has happened to you ? ' I exclaimed. * Little mother
Anna Savishna,' he replied, ' the brigands have robbed and
almost killed me. Doubrovsky himself was there, and he
wanted to hang me, but he afterwards had pity upon me and
let me go. But he plundered me of everything — money,
horse, and cart.' A faintness came over me. Heavenly
Lord ! What will become of my Vaniusha ? There was
nothing to be done. I wrote a fresh letter, telHng him all
that had happened, and sent him my blessing without a •
farthing of money. One week passed, and then another.
Suddenly, one day, a calbche drove into my courtyard.
Some general asked to see me : I gave orders for him to be
shown in. He entered the room, and I saw before me
a man of about thirty-five years of age, dark, with black
hair, moustache and beard — the exact portrait of Koulneff.
He introduced himself to me as a friend and comrade of
my late husband, Ivan Andreivitch. He happened to be
passing by, and he could not resist paying a visit to his old
friend's widow, knowing that I lived there. I invited him
to dine, and I set before him what God had sent me. We
spoke of this and that, and at last we began to talk about
Doubrovsky. I told him of my trouble. My general
frowned. ' That is strange,' said he : * I have heard that
Doubrovsky does not attack everybody, but only people who
are well known to be rich, and that even then he leaves
them a part of their possessions and does not plunder
them of everything. As for murdering people, nobody has
yet accused him of that. Is there not some roguery here ?
Oblige me by sending for your steward.'

"The steward was sent for, and quickly made his appear- ^
ance. But as soon as he caught sight of the general he
stood as if petrified.

I

2o6 poushkin's prose tales.

"'Tell me, brother, in what manner did Doubrovsky
plunder you, and how was it that he wanted to hang you?'
My steward began to tremble and fell at the general's feet.

" ' Little father, I am guilty. The evil one led me astray.
I have lied.'

" ' If that is so,' replied the general, * have the goodness
to relate to your mistress how it all happened, and I will
listen.'

" My steward could not recover himself.

" * Well, then,' continued the general, * tell us where you
met Doubrovsky.'

" * At the two pine trees, little father, at the two pine
trees.'

** * What did he say to you ? '^

***He asked me who I was, where I was going, and
why.'

"*WeU, and after that?'

" * After that he demanded the letter and the money from
me, and I gave them to him.' v -

"'And he?'

" * Well, and he . . . little father, pardon me ! '

"'Well, what did he do?'

" ' He returned me the money and the letter, and sai(
* Go, in the name of God, and put this in the post.'

"'Well!'

" ' Little father, pardon me ! *

"'I will settle with you, my pigeon,' said the genera
sternly. ' And you, madam, order this scoundrel's trunk to
be searched, and then give him into my hands ; I will teach
him a lesson.'

"I guessed who his Excellency was, but I did not make
any observation. The coachmen tied the steward to the
box of the caliche; the money was found; the general
remained to dine with me, and departed immediately

DOUBROVSKY. 20/

afterwards, taking with him my steward. The steward was
found the next day in the wood, tied to an oak, and as
ragged as a lime tree."

Everybody listened in silence to Anna Savishna's story,
especially the young ladies. Many of them secretly wished
well to Doubrovsky, seeing in him a romantic hero, particu-
larly Maria Kirilovna, an impulsive, sentimental girl, imbued
with the mysterious horrors of Mrs. Anne Radcliffe.^

"And do you think, Anna Savishna, that it was Dou-
brovsky himself who visited you ? " asked Kirila Petrovitch.
"You are very much mistaken. I do not know who your
guest may have been, but I feel quite sure that it was not
Doubrovsky."

*'How, little father, not Doubrovsky? But who is it
then, if not he, who stops travellers on the high road in
order to search them ? "

- "I don't know.; but I feel confident that it is not Dou-
brovsky. I remember him as a child; I do not know
whether his hair has turned black, but at that time he was
a curly flaxen-haired boy. But I do know for a positive
fact, that Doubrovsky is five years older than my Masha,
and that consequently he is not thirty -five, but about
twenty-three."

"Exactly so, Your Excellency," observed the sheriff: "I
have in my pocket the description of Vladimir Doubrovsky.
In that it is distinctly stated that he is twenty-three years of
age."

"Ah!" said Kirita Petrovitch. "By the way, read it,
and we will listen : it will not be a had thing for us to know
his description. Perhaps he may fall into our clutches, and
if so, he will not escape in a hurry."

^ A now almost forgotten romance writer, whose '• Romance of the
Forest," ** Mysteries of Udolpho," and "Italian," were very popular
a century ago.

208 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

The sheriff drew from his pocket a rather dirty sheet of
paper, unfolded ir with an air of great importance, and
began to read in a monotonous tone :

'* Description of Doubrovsky, based upon the depositions
of his former servants :

" Twenty-three years of age, medium height, clear com-
plexion, shaves his beard, has brown eyes, flaxen hair,
straight nose. Does not seem to have any particular
marks."

''And is that all?" said Kirila Petrovitch.

" That is all," replied the sheriff, folding up the paper.

" I congratulate you, Mr. Sheriff. A very valuable docu-
ment ! With that description it will not be difficult for you
to find Doubrovsky ! Who is not of medium height ? Who
has not flaxen hair, a straight nose and brown eyes ? I would
wager that you would talk for three hours at a stretch to
Doubrovsky himself, and you would never guess in whose
company you were. There is no denying that these officials
have wise heads."

The sheriff, meekly replacing the paper in his pocket,
silently busied himself with his goose and cabbage. Mean-
while the servants had already gone the round of the guests
several times, filling up each one's glass. Several bottles of
Caucasus wine had been opened with a great deal of noise,
and had been thankfully accepted under the name of
champagne. Faces began to glow, and the conversation
grew louder, more incoherent and more lively.

" No," continued Kirila Petrovitch, " we shall never see
another sheriff like the late Taras Alexeievitch ! He was
not the man to be thrown off the scent very easily. I am
very sorry that the fellow was burnt, for otherwise not one
of the band would have got away from him. He would
have laid his hands upon the whole lot of them, and not
even Doubrovsky himself would have escaped. Taras

DOUBROVSKY. 209

Alexeievitch would perhaps have taken money from him,
but he would not have let him go. Such was the way of
the deceased. Evidently there is nothing else to be done
but for me to take the matter in hand and go after the
brigands with my people. I will begin by sending out
twenty men to scour the wood. My people are not
cowards. Each of them would attack a bear single-handed,
and they certainly would not fall back before a brigand."

"How is your bear, father Kirila Petrovitch?" asked
Anton Pafnoutitch, being reminded by these words of his
shaggy acquaintance and of certain pleasantries of which he
had once been the victim.

**Misha^ wishes you a long life," replied Karila Petro-
vitch: '*he died a glorious death at the hands of the
eneniy. There is his conqueror ! " Kirila Petrovitch pointed
to the French tutor. " He has avenged your — if you will
allow me to'^ay so — do you remember ? "

** How should I not remember ? " said Anton Pafnoutitch,
scratching his head : ** I remember it only too well. So
Misha is dead. I am very sorry for Misha — upon my word,
I am very sorry ! How amusing he was ! How intelligent !
You will not find another bear like him. And why did
monsieur kill him ? "

Kirila Petrovitch began, with great satisfaction, to relate
the exploit of his Frenchman, for he possessed the happy
faculty of boasting of everything that was about him. The
guests listened with great attention to the story of Misha's
death, and gazed in astonishment at Desforges, who, not
suspecting that his bravery was the subject of conversation,
sat tranquilly in his place, giving advice to his restive
pupil.

^ Diminutive of Michael — the familiar name for a bear in Russia.
^ A Russian figure of speech which signifies that the person spoken of
is dead.

2IO POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

The dinner, after lasting about three hours, came to an
end; the host placed his serviette upon the table, and
everybody rose and repaired to the parlour, where awaited
them coffee, cards, and a continuation of the carouse so
excellently begun in the dining-room.

211

CHAPTER X.

ABOUT seven o'clock in the evening, some of the guests
wished to depart, but the host, merry with punch,
ordered the gates to be locked, and declared that nobody
should leave the house until the next morning. Music soon
resounded, the doors of the saloon were thrown open and
the ball began. The host and his familiar acquaintances sat
in a corner, draining glass after glass, and admiring the
gaiety of the young people. The old ladies played at cards.
The gentlemen, as is always the case, except where a brigade
of uhlans is stationed, were less in number than the ladies,
and all the men, suitable for partners, were soon engaged
for the dance. The tutor particularly distinguished himself
among them; all the ladies waiited to have him as a
partner, as they found it so exceedingly easy to waltz with
him. He danced several times with Maria Kirilovna, and
the ladies observed them with great interest. At last, about
midnight, the tired host stopped the dancing, ordered
supper to be served, and then betook himself off to bed.

The retirement of Kirila Petrovitch gave to the company
more freedom and animation. The gentlemen ventured to
sit near the ladies ; the girls laughed and spoke in whispers
to their neighbours j the ladies spoke in loud voices across
the table ; the gentlemen drank, disputed, and laughed
boisterously. In a word, the supper was exceedingly merry,
•and left behind it a very agreeable impression.

One man only did not share in the general joy. Anton
Pafnoutitch sat gloomy and silent in his place, ate absently,

212 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

and seemed extremely uneasy. The conversation about the
brigands had worked upon his imagination. We shall soon
see that he had good cause to fear them.

Anton Pafnoutitch, in invoking God as a witness that the
little red cash-box was empty, had not lied and sinned. The
little red cash-box was really empty. The bank notes,
which had at one time been in it, had been transferred to a
leather pouch, which he carried on his breast under his
shirt. This precaution alone quieted his distrust of every-
body and his constant fear. Being compelled to spend the
night in a strange house, he was afraid that he might be
lodged in some solitary room, where thieves could easily
break in. He looked round in search of a trustworthy com-
panion, and at last his choice fell upon Desforges. His
appearance, — indicative of strength, — but especially the
bravery shown by him in his encounter with the bear, which
poor Anton Pafnoutitch could never think of without a
shudder, decided his choice. When they rose from the table,
Anton Pafnoutitch began moving round the young French-
man, clearing his throat ancj coughing, and at last he turned
to him and addressed him :

" Hm ! hm ! Couldn't I spend the night in your room,
mossoo, because you see "

^^ Que desire monsieur V asked Desforges, with a poHte
bow.

" Ah ! what a pity, mossoo, that you have not yet learnt
Russian. Je vais moa chez vous coucher. Do you under-
stand?"

^^ Monsieur, trh vo/ontiers" replied Desforges, '•^ veuillez
donner des ordres eti consequence.^^

Anton Pafnoutitch, well satisfied with his knowledge of
the French language, went off at once to make the necessary
arrangements.

The guests began to wish each other good night, and each

I

DOUBROVSKY. 21 3

retired to the room assigned to him, while Anton Pafnoutitch
accompanied the tutor to the wing. The night was
dark. Desforges lighted the way with a lantern. Anton
Pafnoutitch followed him boldly enough, pressing the hidden
treasure occasionally against his breast, in order to convince
himself that his money was still there.

On arriving at the wing, the tutor lit a candle and both
began to undress ; in the meantime Anton Pafnoutitch was
walking about the room, examining the locks and windows,
and shaking his head at the unassuring inspection. The
doors fastened with only one bolt, and the windows had not
yet their double frames.^ He tried to complain to Desforges,
but his knowledge of the French language was too limited
to enable him to express himself with sufficient clearness.
The Frenchman did not understand him, and Anton
Pafnoutitch was obliged to cease his complaints. Their
beds stood opposite each other; they both lay down, and
the tutor extinguished the light.

''^ Pourquoi vous toucher; pourquoi vous toucher 7" cried
Anton Pafnoutitch, conjugating the Russian verb to extin-
guish, after the French manner. " I cannot dormir in the
dark."

Desforges did not understand his exclamations, and
wished him good night.

"Accursed pagan!" muttered Spitsin, wrapping himself
up in the bedclothes : *' he couldn't do without extin-
guishing the light. So much the worse for him. I cannot
sleep without a light — Mossoo, mossoo^' he continued : "yj?
ve avec vous parler"

But the Frenchman did not reply, and soon began to
snore.

" He is snoring, the French brute, '* though'J Anton

^ The Russians put double frames to their windows in winter.

214 poushkin's prose tales.

Pafnoutitch, " while I can't even think of going to sleep.
Thieves might walk in at any moment through the open
doors or climb in through the window, and the firing of a
cannon would not wake him, the beast ! "

" Mossoo / mossoo ! — the devil take you ! "

Anton Pafnoutitch became silent. Fatigue and the effects
of wine gradually overcame his fear. He began to doze, and
soon fell into a deep sleep. A strange sensation aroused
him. He felt in his sleep that someone was gently pulling
him by the collar of his shirt. Anton Pafnoutitch opened his
eyes and, by the pale light of an autumn morning, he saw
Desforges standing before him. In one hand the French-
man held a pocket pistol, and with the other he was unfasten-
ing the strings of the precious leather pouch. Anton
Pafnoutitch felt faint.

** Qu!est ce que dest, Mossoo^ quUst ce que ^est ? " said he, in
a trembling voice.

" Hush ! Silence ! " replied the tutor in pure Russian.
" Silence 1 or you are lost. I am Doubrovsky."

215

CHAPTER XI.

WE will now ask the permission of the reader to explain
the last incidents of our story, by referring to the
circumstances that preceded them, and which we have not
yet had time to relate.

At the station of , at the house of the postmaster, of

whom we have already spoken, sat a traveller in a corner,
looking very modest and resigned, and having the appear-
ance of a plebeian or a foreigner, that is to say, of a man
having no voice in connection with the post route. His
britchka ^ stood in the courtyard, waiting for the wheels to be
greased. Within it lay a small portmanteau, evidence of a
very modest fortune. The traveller ordered neither tea nor
coffee, but sat looking out of the window and whistling, to
the great annoyance of the postmistress sitting behind the
partition.

"The Lord has sent us a whistler," said she, in a low
voice. " How he does whistle ! I wish he would burst, the
accursed pagan ! "

*' What does it matter ? " said her husband. " Let him
whistle!"

"What does it matter?" retorted his angry spouse;
" don't you know the saying ? "

" What saying ? That whistling drives money away ? Oh,
Pakhomovna, whether he whistles or not, we shall get
precious Httle money out of him."

^ A kind of open four-wheeled carriage, with a top and shutters to
close at pleasure.

2i6 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" Then let him go, Sidoritch. What pleasure have you in
keeping him here ? Give him the horses, and let him go to
the devil."

" He can wait, Pakhomovna. I have only three troikas
in the stable, the fourth is resting. Besides, travellers of
more importance may arrive at any moment, and I don't
wish to risk my neck for a Frenchman. . . . Hallo ! there
you are ! Don't you hear the sound of galloping ! What a
rate ! Can it be a general ? "

A caliche stopped in front of the steps. The servant
jumped down from the box, opened the door, and a moment
afterwards a young man in a military cloak and white cap
entered the station. Behind him followed his servant,
carrying a small box which he placed upon the window-
ledge.

" Horses ! " said the officer, in an imperious voice.

** Directly!" replied the postmaster: "your road-pass,
if you please."

" I have no road-pass : I am not going to take the main
road. . . . Besides, don't you recognize me ? "

The postmaster hastened to hurry the postilions. The
young man began to pace up and down the room. Then
he went behind the partition, and inquired of the post-
mistress in a low voice :

" Who is that traveller? "

" God knows 1 " replied the postmistress : " some French-
man or other. He has been five hours waiting for horses,
and has done nothing but whistle the whole of the time.
He has quite wearied me, the heathen ! "

The young man spoke to the traveller in French.

** Where are you going to ? " he asked.

"To the neighbouring town," replied the Frenchman:
" and from there I am going to a landed proprietor who has
engaged me as tutor without ever having seen me. I thought

DOUBROVSKY. 217

I should have reached the place to-day, but the postmaster
has evidently decided otherwise. In this country it is
difficult to procure horses, monsieur I'officier."

" And to which of the landed proprietors about here have
you engaged yourself?" asked the officer.

" To Troekouroff," replied the Frenchman.

"To Troekouroff? Who is this Troekourofif?"

" Ma foi^ monsieur. I have heard very little good of
him. They say that he is a proud and wilful noble, and so
harsh towards the members of his household, that nobody
can live on good terms with him : that all tremble at his
name, and that with his tutors he stands upon no ceremony
whatever."

"And you have decided to engage yourself to such a
monster ? "

" What is to be done, monsieur I'officier? He proposes to
give me good wages : three thousand roubles a year and
everything found. Perhaps I may be more fortunate than
the others. I have an aged mother: one half of my salary
I will send to her for her support, and out of the rest of my
money I shall be able in five years to save a small capital
sufficient to make me independent for the rest of my life.
Then, bon soir, I return to Paris and set up in business."

" Does anybody at Troekouroff 's know you ? " asked the
officer.

"Nobody," replied the tutor. "He engaged me at
Moscow, through one of his friends, whose cook is a
countryman of mine, and who recommended me. I must
tell you that I did not intend to be a tutor, but a con-
fectioner ; but I was told that in your country the profession
of tutor is more lucrative.'"'

The officer reflected.

" Listen to me," he said to the Frenchman : " What would
you say if, instead of this engagement, you were offered ten

2l8 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

thousand roubles, ready money, on condition that you
returned immediately to Paris?"

The Frenchman looked at the officer in astonishment,
smiled, and shook his head.

"The horses are ready," said the postmaster, entering
the room at that moment.

The servant confirmed this statement.

" Presently," replied the officer : " leave the room for a
moment." The postmaster and the servant withdrew " I
am not joking," he continued in French. " I can give you
ten thousand roubles ; I only want your absence and your
papers."

So saying, he opened his small box and took out of it
several bank notes. The Frenchman opened his eyes. He
did not know what to think.

" My absence ... my papers ! " he repeated in astonish-
ment. *' Here are my papers . . . but you are surely joking.
What do you want my papers for ? "

" That does not concern you. I ask you, do you consent
or not?"

The Frenchman, still unable to believe his own ears,
handed his papers to the young officer, who rapidly examined
them.

"Your passport . . . very well; your letter of recom-
mendation ... let us see ; the certifigarte of your birth . . .
capital ! Well, here is your money ; return home. Farewell."

The Frenchman stood as if glued to the spot. The officer
came back.

" I had almost forgotten the most important thing of all.
Give me your word of honour that all this will remain a
secret between us. . . . Your word of honour."

" My word of honour," replied the Frenchman. " But
my papers ? What shall I do without them ?"

*' In the first town you come to, announce that you have

DOUBROVSKY. 219

been robbed by Doubrovsky. They will believe you, and
give you fresh papers. Farewell : God grant you a safe and
speedy return to Paris, and may you find your mother in
good health."

Doubrovsky left the room, mounted the caliche, and
galloped off.

The postmaster stood looking out of the window, and
when the caliche had driven off, he turned to his wife,
exclaiming :

"Pakhomovna, do you know who that was? That was
Doubrovsky ! "

The postmistress rushed towards the window, but it was
too late. Doubrovsky was already a long way off. Then
she began to scold her husband.

** You have no fear of God. Why did you not tell me
sooner, I should at least have had a glimpse of Doubrovsky.
But now I shall have to wait long enough before I get a
chance of seeing him again. Shameless creature that you
are!"

The Frenchman stood as if petrified. The agreement
with the officer, the money — everything seemed like a
dream to him. But the bundle of bank notes was there in
his pocket, eloquently confirming the reality of the wonder-
ful adventure.

He resolved to hire horses to take him to the next town.
The postilion drove him very slowly, and he reached the
town at nightfall.

On approaching the barrier, where, in place of a sentinel,
stood a dilapidated sentry-box, the Frenchman told the
postilion to stop, got out of the britchka and proceeded on
foot, explaining by signs to the driver that he might keep the
vehicle and the portmanteau and buy brandy with them.
The driver was as much astonished at his generosity as the
Frenchman himself had been by Doubrovsky's proposal.

220 POUSHKIN^S PROSE TALES.

But concluding that the " German " ^ had taken leave of his
senses, the driver thanked him with a very profound bow, and
not caring about entering the town, he made his way to a
house of entertainment that was well known to him, and the
proprietor of which was a friend of his. There he passed
the whole night, and the next morning he started back on
his return journey with the troika^ without the britchka and
without the portmanteau, but with a swollen face and red
eyes.

Doubrovsky, having possession of the Frenchman's papers,
boldly appeared, as we have already seen, at the house of
Troekouroff, and there estabHshed liimself. Whatever were
his secret intentions — we shall know them later on — th^Ye
was nothing in his behaviour to excite suspicion. It is
true that he did not occupy himself very much with
the education of little Sasha, to whom he allowed full
liberty, nor was he very exacting in the matter of his lessons,
which were only given for form's sake, but he paid great
attention to the musical studies of his fair pupil, and
frequently sat for hours beside her at the piano.

Everybody liked the young tutor : Kirila Petrovitch for
his boldness and dexterity in the hunting-field ; Maria
Kirilovna for his unbounded zeal and^lavish attentiveness ;
Sasha for his tolerance, and the members of the household
for his kindness and generosity, apparently incompatible
with his means. He himself seemed to be attached to the
whole family, and already regarded himself as a member
of it.

About a monfh had elapsed from the time of his entering
upon the calling of tutor to the date of the memorable fete,
and nobody suspected that the modest young Frenchman

' A general name for all foreigners in Russia.

l

DOUBROVSKY. 221

was in reality the terrible brigand whose name was a source
of terror to all the landed proprietors of the neighbourhood.
During all this time, Doubrovsky had never quitted Pokrov-
skoe, but the reports of his depredations did not cease for
all that, thanks to the inventive imagination of the country
people. It is possible, too, that his band may have con-
tinued their exploits during the absence of the chief.

Passing the night in the same room with a man whom he
could only regard as a personal enemy, and one of the prin-
cipal authors of his misfortune, Doubrovsky had not been
able to resist temptation. He knew of the existence of the
pouch, and had resolved to take possession of it.

We have seen how he frightened poor Anton Pafnoutitch
by his unexpected transformation from a tutor into a
brigandc

y

^22

CHAPTER XII.

AT nine o'clock in the morning, the guests who had!
passed the night at Pokrovskoe repaired one after the
other to the sitting-room, where the tea-urn was already boil-
ing, and before which sat Maria Kirilovna in a morning
gown, and Kirila Petrovitch in a frieze coat and slippers,
drinking his tea out of a large cup like a wash-hand basin.

The last to appear was Anton Pafnoutitch; he was so
pale, and seemed so troubled, that everybody was struck
by his appearance, and Kirila Petrovitch inquired after his
health. Spitsin replied in an evasive manner, glaring with
horror at the tutor, who sat there as if nothing had happened.
A few minutes afterwards a servant entered and announced to
Spitsin that his carriage was ready. Anton Pafnoutitch
hastened to take his leave of the company, and then hurried
out of the room and started off immediately. The guests
and the host could not understand what had happened to
him, and Kirila Petrovitch came to the conclusion that he
was suffering from an attack of indigestion.

After tea and the farewell breakfast, the other guests
began to take their leave, and soon Pokrovskoe became
empty, and everything went on in the usual manner.

Several days passed, and nothing remarkable had hap-
pened. The life of the inhabitants of Pokrovskoe became
very monotonous. Kirila Petrovitch went out hunting
every day; while Maria Kirilovna devoted her time to
reading, walking, and especially to musical exercises. She

DOUBROVSKY. 223

was beginning to understand her own heart, and acknow-
ledged to herself with involuntary vexation that she was not
indifferent to the good qualities of the young Frenchman.
He, on his side, never overstepped the limits of respect and
strict decorum, and thereby quieted her pride and her
timid suspicions. With more and more confidence she
gave herself up to the alluring habit of seeing him. She
felt dull without Desforges, and in his presence she was con-
stantly occupied with him, wishing to know his opinion of
everything, and always agreeing with him. She was not yet
in love with him perhaps; but at the first accidental
obstacle or unexpected reverse of destiny, the flame of
passion would burst forth within her heart.

One day, on entering the parlour, where the tutor awaited
her, Maria Kirilovna observed with astonishment that he
looked pale and troubled. She opened the piano and sang
a few notes ; but Doubrovsky, under the pretext of a head-
aches, apologized, interrupted the lesson, closed the music,
and slipped a note into her hand. Maria Kirilovna, with-
out pausing to reflect, took it, and repented almost at the
same moment for having done so. But Doubrovsky was no
longer in the room. Maria Kirilovna went to her room, un-
folded the note, and read as follows :

** Be in the arbour near the brook this evening, at seven
o^clock : it is necessary that I should speak to you."

Her curiosity was strongly excited. She had long ex-
pected a declaration, desiring it and dreading it at one and
the same time. It would have been agreeable to her to
hear the confirmation of what she divined ; but she felt that
it would have been unbecoming to hear such a declaration
from a man who, on account of his position, ought never to
aspire to win her hand. She resolved to go to the meeting-
place, but she hesitated about one thing : in what manner
she ought to receive the tutor's declaration — with aristocratic

224 POUSHKIN'S prose TALES.

indignation, with friendly admonition, with good-humoured
banter, or with silent sympathy. In the meantime she kept
constantly looking at the clock. It grew dark : candles
were brought in. Kirila Petrovitch sat down to play at
" Boston " ^ with some of his neighbours who had come to
pay him a visit. The clock struck a quarter to seven,
and Maria Kirilovna walked quietly out on to the steps,
looked round on every side, and then hastened into the
garden.

The night was dark, the sky was covered with clouds, and
it was impossible to see anything at a distance of two paces ;
but Maria Kirilovna went forward in the darkness along
paths that were quite familiar to her, and in a few minutes
she reached the arbour. There she paused in order to
draw breath and to present herself before Desforges with an
air of calm indifference. But Desforges already stood
before her.

" I thank you," he said in a low, sad voice, " for having
granted my request. I should have been in despair if you
had not complied with it."

Maria Kirilovna answered him in the words she had
prepared beforehand.

" I hope you will not cause me tp repent of my con-
descension."

He was silent, and seemed to be collecting himself.

"Circumstances demand — I am obliged to leave you,*'
he said at last. "It may be that you will soon hear —
but before going away, I must have an explanation with
you."

Maria Kirilovna made no reply. In these words she saw
the preface to the expected declaration.

" I am not what you suppose," continued he, lowering his

* A card game that was very popular on the Continent at the
beginning of the present century.

DOUBROVSKY. 22$

head: **I am not the Frenchman Desforges — I am Doa-
brovsky."

Maria Kirilovna uttered a cry.

" Do not be alarmed, for God's sake ! You need not be
afraid of my name. Yes, I am that unhappy person, whom
your father, after depriving him of his last crust of bread,
drove out of his paternal home and sent on to the highway
to rob. But you need not be afraid, either on your own
account or on his. All is over. ... I have forgiven him ;
you have saved him. My first crime of blood was to have
been accomplished upon him. I prowled round his house,
determining where the fire should burst out, where I should
enter his bedroom, and how I should cut him off from all
means of escape ; at that moment you passed by me like a
^ heavenly vision, and my heart was subdued. I understood
that the house, in which you dwelt, was sacred ; that not a
single person, connected with you by the ties of blood,
could He beneath my curse. I looked upon vengeance as
madness, and dismissed the thought of it from my mind.
Whole days I wandered around the gardens of Pokrovskoe,
in the hope of seeing your white robe in the distance. In
your incautious walks I followed you, stealing from bush to
bush, happy in the thought that for you there was no danger,
where I was secretly present. At last an opportunity pre-
sented itself. ... I established myself in your house.
Those three weeks were for me days of happiness; the
recollection of them will be the joy of my sad life. . .
To-day I received news which renders it impossible for me
to remain here any longer. I part from you to-day — at this
very moment. . . . But before doing so, I felt that it was
necessary that I should reveal myself to you, so that you
might not curse me nor despise me. Think sometimes ot
Doubrovsky. Know that he was born for another fate, that
his soul was capable of loving you, that never "

226 POUSHKIN'S prose TALES.

Just then a loud whistle resounded, and Doubrovsky
became silent. He seized her hand and pressed it to his
burning lips. The whistle was repeated.

** Farewell," said Doubrovsky : " they are calling me. • A
moment's delay may destroy me."

He moved away. . . . Maria Kirilovna stood motionless.
Doubrovsky returned and once more took her by the hand.

"If misfortune should ever overtake you, and you are
unable to obtain help or protection from anybody, will you
promise to apply to me, to demand from me everything
that may be necessary for your happiness ? Will you pro-
mise not to reject my devotion ? "

Maria Kirilovna wept silently. The whistle resounded
for the third time.

" You will destroy me ! " cried Doubrovsky : " but I will
not leave you until you give me a reply. Do you promise
me or not ? "

" I promise ! " murmured the poor girl.

Greatly agitated by her interview with Doubrovsky, Maria
Kirilovna returned from the garden. As she approached
the house, she perceived a great crowd of people in the
courtyard ; a troika was standing in front of the steps, the
servants were running hither and thither, and the whole
house was in a commotion. In the distance she heard the
voice of Kirila Petrovitch, and she hastened to reach her
room, fearing that her absence might be noticed. Kirila
Petrovitch met her in the hall. The visitors were pressing
round our old acquaintance the sheriff, and were over-
whelming him with questions. The sherifif, in travelling
dress, and armed from head to foot, answered them with a
mysterious and anxious air.

" Where have you been, Masha ? " asked Kirila Petrovitch.
" Have you seen Monsieur Desforges ? "

Masha could scarcely answer in the negative.

DOUBROVSKY. 22;

'* Just imagine," continued Kirila Petrovitch : " the
sheriff has come to arrest him, and assures me that he is
Doubrovsky."

"He answers the description in every respect, Your
Excellency," said the sheriff respectfully.

" Oh ! brother," interrupted Kirila Petrovitch, " go to —
you know where — with your descriptions. I will not sur-
render my Frenchman to you until I have investigated the
matter myself. How can anyone believe the word of Anton
Pafnoutitch, a coward and a clown ? He must have dreamt
that the tutor wanted to rob him. Why didn't he tell me
about it the next morning? He never said a word about
the matter.

"The Frenchman threatened him. Your Excellency,"
replied the sheriff, "and made him swear that he would
preserve silence."

" A pack of lies ! " exclaimed Kirila Petrovitch : " I will
have this mystery cleared up immediately. Where is the
tutor?" he asked of a servant who entered at that moment.

" He cannot be found anywhere," repUed the servant.

" Then search for him ! " cried Troekouroff, beginning to
entertain doubts.

"Show me your vaunted description," said he to the
sheriff, who immediately handed him the paper.

" Hm ! hm ! twenty-three years old, etc., etc. That is so,
but yet that does not prove anything. Well, what about the
tutor?"

" He is not to be found," was again the answer.

Kirila Petrovitch began to be uneasy; Maria Kirilovna
was neither dead nor alive.

"You are pale, Masha," remarked her father to her;
" have they frightened you ? "

" No, papa," repHed Masha ; " I have a headache."

"Go to your own rQpm, Masha, and don't be alarmed."

1

228 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Masha kissed his hand and retired hastily to her room.
There she threw herself upon her bed and burst into a hysteri-
cal flood of tears. The maids hastened to her assistance,
undressed her with difficulty, and with difficulty succeeded
in calming her by means of cold water and all possible kinds
of smelling salts. They put her to bed and she fell into a
slumber.

In the meantime the Frenchman could not be found.
Kirila Petrovitch paced up and down the room, loudly
whistling his favourite military air. The visitors whispered
among themselves ; the sheriff looked foolish ; the French-
man was not to be found. Probably he had managed to
escape through being warned beforehand. But by whom
and how ? That remained a mystery.

It was eleven o'clock, but nobody thought of sleep. At
last Kirila Petrovitch said angrily to the sheriff :

" Well, do you wish to stop here till daylight ? My house
is not an inn. It is not by any cleverness on your part,
brother, that Doubrovsky will be taken — if he really be
Doubrovsky. Return home, and in future be a little
quicker. And it is time for you to go home, too," he con-
tinued, addressing his guests. " Order the horses to be got
ready. I want to go to bed."

In this ungracious manner did Troekouroff take leave of
his guests.

229

CHAPTER XIII. .

SOME time elapsed without anything remarkable happen-
ing. But at the beginning of the following summer,
many changes occurred in the family arrangements of Kirila
Petrovitch.

About thirty versts from Pokrovskoe was the wealthy
estate of Prince Vereisky. The Prince had lived abroad for
a long time, and his estate was managed by a retired major.
No intercourse existed between Pokrovskoe and Arbatova.
But at the end of the month of May, the Prince returned
from abroad and took up his abode in his own village, which
he had never seen since he was born. Accustomed to social
pleasures, he could not endure solitude, and the third day
after his arrival, he set out to dine with Troekouroff, with
whom he had formerly been acquainted. The Prince was
about fifty years of age, but he looked much older. Excesses
of every kind had ruined his health, and had placed upon
him their indelible stamp. In spite of that, his appearance
was agreeable and distinguished, and his having always been
accustomed to society gave him a certain afifabihty of
demeanour, especially towards ladies. He had a constant
need of amusement, and he was a constant victim to
ennui.

Kirila Petrovitch was exceedingly gratified by this visit,
which he regarded as a mark of respect from a man who
knew the world. In accordance with his usual custom, he
began to entertain his visitor by conducting him to inspect
his establishments and kennels. But the Prince could hardly

230 poushkin's prose tales.

breathe in the atmosphere of the dogs, and he hurried out,
holding a scented handkerchief to his nose. The old garden,
with its clipped limes, square pond and regular walks, did
not please him ; he did not like the English gardens and the
so-called natural style, but he praised them and went into
ecstasies over everything. The servant came to announce
that dinner was served, and they repaired to the dining-
room. The Prince limped, being fatigued after his walk, and
already repenting for having paid his visit.

But in the dining-hall Maria Kirilovna met them — and
the old sensualist was struck by her beauty. Troekouroff
placed his guest beside her. The Prince was resuscitated by
her presence; he became quite cheerful, and succeeded
several times in arresting her attention by the recital of
some of his curious stories. After dinner Kirila Petrovitch
proposed a ride on horseback, but the Prince excused him-
self, pointing to his velvet boots and joking about his gout.
He proposed a drive in a carriage, so that he should not be
, separated from his charming neighbour. The carriage was
got ready. The two old men and the beautiful young girl
took their seats in it, and they started off. The conversa-
tion did not flag. Maria Kirilovna listened with pleasure to
the flattering compliments and witty remarks of the man of
the world, when suddenly Vereisky, turning to Kirila
Petrovitch, said to him : " What is the meaning of that
burnt building — does it belong to you ? "

Kirila Petrovitch frowned: the memories awakened by
the burnt manor-house were disagreeable to him. He
replied that the land was his now, but that formerly it had
belonged to Doubrovsky.

" To Doubrovsky ? " repeated Vereisky. " What ! to the
famous brigand ? "

"To his father," replied Troekourofl": "and the father
himself was a true brigand,"

DOUBROVSKY. 23 1

"And what has become of our Rinaldo? Have they
caught him ? Is he still alive ? "

" He is still alive and at liberty. By the way, Prince,
Doubrovsky paid you a visit at Arbatova."

" Yes, last year, I think, he burnt or plundered some-
thing or other. Don't you think, Maria Kirilovna, that it
would be very interesting to make a closer acquaintance
with this romantic hero ? "

"Interesting!" said TroekourofF: "she knows him
already. He taught her music for three whole weeks, and
thank God, took nothing for his lessons."

Then Kirila Petrovitch began to relate the story of the
pretended French tutof. Maria Kirilovna felt as if she
were sitting upon needles. Vereisky, listening with deep
attention, found it all very strange, and changed the subject
of conversation. On returning from the drive, he ordered
his carriage to be brought, and in spite of the earnest
requests of Kirila Petrovitch to stay for the night, he took
his departure immediately after tea. Before setting out, how-
ever, he invited Kirila Petrovitch to pay him a visit and to
bring Maria Kirilovna with him, and the proud Troekouroff
promised to do so ; for taking into consideration his princely
dignity, his two stars, and the three thousand serfs belong-
ing to his estate, he regarded Prince Vereisky in some
degree as his equal.

232

CHAPTER XIV.

TWO days after this visit, Kirila Petrovitch set out with
his daughter for the abode of Prince Vereisky. On
approaching Arbatova, he could not sufficiently admire the
clean and cheerful-looking huts of the peasants, and the
stone manor-house built in the style of an English castle.
In front of the house stretched a close green lawn, upon
which were grazing some Swiss cows tinkling their bells. A
spacious park surrounded the house on every side. The
master met the guests on the steps, and gave his arm to the
young beauty. She was then conducted into a magnificent
hall, where the table was laid for three. The Prince led his
guests to a window, and a charming view opened out before
them. The Volga flowed past the windows, and upon its
bosom floated laden barges under full sail, and small fish-
ing-boats known by the expressive name of *' soul-
destroyers." Beyond the river stretched hills and fields,
and several little villages animated the landscape.

Then they proceeded to inspect the galleries of pictures
bought by the Prince in foreign countries. The Prince
explained to Maria Kirilovna their various characteristics,
related the history of the painters, and pointed out their
merits and defects. He did not speak of pictures in the
pretentious language of the pedantic connoisseur, but with
feeling and imagination. Maria Kirilovna listened to him
with pleasure.

They sat down to table. Troekouroff rendered full
justice to the wines of his Amphytrion, and to the skill of

DOUBROVSKY. 233

his cook ; while Maria Kirilovna did not feel at all confused
or constrained in her conversation with a man whom she
now saw for the second time in her Hfe. After dinner the
host proposed to his guests that they should go into the
garden. They drank coffee in the arbour on the bank of a
broad lake studded with little islands. Suddenly resounded
the music of wind instruments, and a six-oared boat drew
up before the arbour. They rowed on the lake, round the
islands, and visited some of them. On one they found a
marble statue ; on another, a lonely grotto ; on a third, a
monument with a mysterious inscription, which awakened
within Maria Kirilovna a girlish curiosity not completely
satisfied by the polite but reticent explanations of the
Prince. The time passed imperceptibly. It began to grow
dark. The Prince, under the pretext of the cold and the
dew, hastened to return to the house, where the tea-urn
awaited them. The Prince requested Maria Kirilovna to
discharge the functions of hostess in his bachelor's home.
She poured out the tea, listening to the inexhaustible stories
of the charming talker. Suddenly a shot was heard, and a
rocket illuminated the sky. The Prince gave Maria
Kirilovna a shawl, and led her and Troekouroff on to the
balcony. In front of the house, in the darkness, different
coloured fires blazed up, whirled round, rose up in sheaves,
poured out in fountains, fell in showers of rain and stars,
went out and then burst into a blaze again. Maria
Kirilovna was as delighted as a child. Prince Vereisky was
delighted with her enjoyment, and Troekouroff was very
well satisfied with him, for he accepted tons les frais of the
Prince as signs of respect and a desire to please him.

The supper was quite equal to the dinner in every respect.
Then the guests retired to the rooms assigned to them, and
the next morning took leave of their amiable host, promising
each other soon to meet again.

234

CHAPTER XV.

MARIA KIRILOVNA was sitting in her room, em-
broidering at her frame before the open window.
She did not entangle her threads like Conrad's mistress, who,
in her amorous distraction, embroidered a rose with green
silk. Under her needle, the canvas repeated unerringly the
design of the original ; but in spite of that, her thoughts did
not follow her work — they were far away.

Suddenly an arm passed silently through the window,
placed a letter upon the frame and disappeared before
Maria Kirilovna could recover herself. At the same
moment a servant entered to call her to Kirila Petrovitch.
Trembling very much, she hid the letter under her fichu
and hastened to her father in his study.

Kirila Petrovitch was not alone. Prince Vereisky was
sitting in the room with him. On the appearance of Maria
Kirilovna, the Prince rose and silently bowed, with a con-
fusion that was quite unusual in him.

" Come here, Masha," said Kirila Petrovitch : " I have a
piece of news to tell you which I hope will please you very
much. Here is a sweetheart for you : the Prince proposes
for your hand."

Masha was dumfounded; a deadly pallor overspread
her countenance. She was silent. The Prince approached
her, took her hand, and with a tender look, asked her if she
would consent to make him happy. Masha remained
silent.

"Consent? Of course she will consent," said Kirila

DOUBROVSKY. 235

Petrovitch ; " but you know, Prince, it is difficult for a girl
to say such a word as that. Well, children, kiss one
another and be happy."

Masha stood motionless ; the old Prince kissed her hand.
Suddenly the tears began to stream down her pale cheeks.
The Prince frowned slightly.

'*Go, go, go!" said Kirila Petrovitch : "dry your tears
and come back to us in a merry humour. They all weep at
the moment of being betrothed," he continued, turning to
Vereisky; "it is their custom. Now, Prince, let us talk
about business, that is to say, about the dowry."

Maria Kirilovna eagerly took advantage of the permission
to retire. She ran to her room, locked herself in and gave
way to her tears, already imagining herself the wife of the
old Prince. He had suddenly become repugnant and hate-
ful to her. Marriage terrified her, like the block, like the
grav«.

" No, no," she repeated in, despair ; "I would rather go
into a convent, I would rather marry Doubrovsky . . . ."

Then she remembered the letter and eagerly began to
read it, having a presentiment that it was from him. In
fact, it was written by him, and contained only the following
words :

'^This evening, at ten o'clock, in the same place as
before."

The moon was shining ; the night was calm ; the wind
rose now and then, and a gentle rustle ran over the garden.

Like a light shadow, the beautiful young girl drew near to
the appointed meeting-place. Nobody was yet visible,
when suddenly, from behind the arbour, Doubrovsky ap
peared before her.

" I know all," he said to her in a low, sad voice ; " re-
member your promise."

" You offer me your protection," replied Masha ; " do

236 poushkin's prose tales.

not be angry — but the idea alarms me. In what way can
you help me ? "

*' I can deliver you from a detested man . . ."

" For God's sake, do not touch him, do not venture to
touch him, if you love me. I do not wish to be the cause
of any horror . . ."

" I will not touch him : your wish is sacred for me. He
owes his life to you. Never shall a crime be committed in
your name. You shall not be stigmatized on account of
my misdeeds. But how can I save you from a cruel
father?"

" There is still hope ; I hope to touch him with my tears
— my despair. He is obstinate, but he loves me very
dearly."

*' Do not put your trust in a vain hope. In those tears
he will see only the usual timidity and aversion common to
all young girls, when they marry from motives of interest
and not from affection. But if he takes it into his head to
accomplish your happiness in spite of yourself ? If you are
conducted to the altar by force, in order that your destiny
may be placed for ever in the hands of an old man ? " »

" Then — then there will be nothing else to do. Come
for me — I will be your wife."

Doubrovsky trembled ; his pale face became covered
with a deep flush, and the next minute he became paler
than before. He remained silent for a long time, with his
head bent down.

" Muster the full strength of your soul, implore your
father, throw yourself at his feet ; represent to him all the
horror of the future that he is preparing for you, your youth
fading away by the side of a feeble and dissipated old man.
Tell him that riches will not procure for you a single
moment of happiness. Luxury consoles poverty alone, and
even in that case only for a brief season. Do not be put

DOUBROVSKY. 237

off by him, and do not be frightened either by his anger or
by his threats, as long as there remains the least shadow of
hope. For God's sake do not leave off importuning him.
If, however, you have no other resource left, decide upon a
plain speaking explanation ; tell him that if he remains in-
exorable, then — then you will find a terrible protector."

Here Doubrovsky covered his face with his hands; he
seemed to be choking. Masha wept.

" My miserable, miserable fate ! " said he, with a bitter
sigh. " For you I would have given my life. To see you
from afar, to touch your hand was for me happiness beyond
expression ; and when there opens up before me the possi-
bility of pressing you to my agitated heart, and saying to
you : * I am yours for ever * — miserable creature that I am !
I must fly from such happiness, I must repel it from me
with all my strength. I dare not throw myself at your feet
and thank Heaven for an incomprehensible, unmerited
reward. Oh ! how I ought to hate him who — but I feel
that now there is no place in my heart for hatred."

He gently passed his arm round her slender figure and
pressed hen tenderly to his heart. She confidingly leaned
her head upon the young brigand's shoulder and both re-
mained silent. . . . The time flew past.

" It is time," said Masha at last.

Doubrovsky seemed as if awakening from a dream. He
took her hand and placed a ring on her finger.

" If you decide upon having recourse to me," said he,
" then bring the ring here and place it in the hollow of this
oak. I shall know what to do."

Doubrovsky kissed her hand and disappeared among the
trees

238

CHAPTER XVI.

PRINCE VEREISKY'S intention of getting married
was no longer a secret in the neighbourhood. Kirila
Petrovitch received the congratulations of his acquaintances,
and preparations were made for the wedding. Masha post-
poned from day to day the decisive explanation. In the
meantime her manner towards her elderly lover was cold
and constrained. The Prince did not trouble himself
about that ; the question of love gave him no concern ; her
silent consent was quite sufficient for him.

But the time went past. Masha at last decided to act,
and wrote a letter to Prince Vereisky. She tried to awaken
within his heart a feeling of magnanimity, candidly confess-
ing that she had not the least attachment for him, and en-
treating him to renounce her hand and even to protect her
from the tyranny of her father. She furtively delivered the
letter to Prince Vereisky. The latter read it alone, but was
not in the least moved by the candour of his betrothed.
On the contrary, he perceived the necessity of hastening the
marriage, and therefore he showed the letter to his future
father-in-law.

Kirila Petrovitch was furious, and it was with difficulty
that the Prince succeeded in persuading him not to let
Masha see that he was acquainted with the contents of the
letter. Kirila Petrovitch promised not to speak about the
matter to her, but he resolved to lose no time and fixed the
wedding for the next day. The Prince found this very
reasonable, and he went to his betrothed and told her that

DOUBROVSKY. 239

her letter had grieved him very much, but that he hoped
in time to gain her affection ; that the thought of resigning
her was too much for him to bear, and that he had not the
strength to consent to his own sentence of death. Then
he kissed her hand respectfully and took his departure,
without saying a word to her about Kirila Petrovitch's
decision.

But scarcely had he left the house, when her father entered
and peremptorily ordered her to be ready for the next day.
Maria Kirilovna, already agitated by the interview with
Prince Vereisky, burst into tears and threw herself at her
father's feet.

" Papa ! " she cried in a plaintive voice, " papa ! do not
destroy me. I do not love the Prince, I do not wish to be
his wife."

" What does this mean ? " said Kirila Petrovitch, fiercely.
" Up till the present you have kept silent and consented,
and now, when everything is decided upon, you become
capricious and refuse to accept him. Don't act the fool ;
you will gain nothing from me by so doing."

" Do not destroy me !" repeated poor Masha. ** Why are
you sending me away from you and giving me to a man that
I do not love ? Do I weary you ? I want to stay with you
as before. Papa, you will be sad without me, and sadder
still when you know that I am unhappy. Papa, do not force
me : I do not wish to marry."

Kirila Petrovitch was touched, but he concealed his
emotion, and pushing her away from him, said harshly :

" That is all nonsense, do you hear ? I know better than
you what is necessary for your happiness. Tears will not
help you. The day after to-morrow your wedding will take
place.

'' The day after to-morrow ! " exclaimed Masha. " My
God ! No, no, impossible ; it cannot be ! Papa, hear me •

240 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

if you have resolved to destroy me, then I will find a pro-
tector that you do not dream of. You will see, and then you
will regret having driven me to despair."

" What ? What ? " said Troekouroff. " Threats ! threats
to me ? Insolent girl I Do you know that I will do with
you what you little imagine. You dare to frighten me, you
worthless girl ! We will see who this protector will be,"

** Vladimir Doubrovsky," replied Masha, in despair.

Kirila Petrovitch thought that she had gone out of her
mind, and looked at her in astonishment.

" Very well ! " said he to her, after an interval of silence ;
" expect whom you please to deliver you, but, in the mean-
time, remain^n this room — you shall not leave it till the very
moment of the wedding."

With these words Kirila Petrovitch went out, locking the
door behind him.

For a long time the poor girl wept, imagining all that
awaited her. But the stormy interview had lightened her
soul, and she could more calmly consider the question of
her future and what it behoved her to do. The principal
thing was — to free herself from this odious marriage. The
lot of a brigand's wife seemed paradise to her in comparison
with the fate prepared for her. She glanced at the ring given
to her by Doubrovsky. Ardently did she long to see him
alone once more before the decisive moment, so that
she might concert measures with him. A presentiment told
her that in the evening she would find Doubrovsky in the
garden, near the arbour; she resolved to go and wait for him
there.

As soon as it began to grow dark, Masha prepared to
carry out her intention, but the door of her room was
locked. Her maid told her from the other side of the door,
that Kirila Petrovitch had given orders that she was not to
be let out. She was under arrest. Deeply hurt, she sat

DOUBROVSKY. 24 1

down by the window and remained there till late in the
night, without undressing, gazing fixedly at the dark sky.
Towards dawn she began to doze ; but her light sleep was
disturbed by sad visions, and she was soon awakened by the
rays of the rising sun.

X

242

CHAPTER XVII.

SHE awoke, and all the horror of her position rose up in
her mind. She rang. The maid entered, and in
answer to her questions, replied that Kirila Petrovitch
had set out the evening before for Arbatova, and had
returned very late ; that he had given strict orders that she
was not to be allowed out of her room and that nobody was
to be permitted to speak to her ; that otherwise, there were
no signs of any particular preparations for the wedding, ex-
cept that the pope had been ordered not to leave the village
under any pretext whatever. After disburdening herself of
this news, the maid left Maria Kirilovna and again locked
the door.

Her words hardened the young prisoner. Her head
burned, her blood boiled. She resolved to inform Dou-
brovsky of everything, and she began to think of some
means by which she could get the ring conveyed to the hole in
the sacred oak. At that moment a stone struck against her
window ; the glass rattled, and Maria Kirilovna, looking out
into the courtyard, saw the little Sasha making signs to her.
She knew that he was attached to her, and she was pleased
to see him.

" Good morning, Sasha ; why do you call me ? "

" I came, sister, to know if you wanted anything. Papa is
angry, and has forbidden the whole house to obey you ; but
order me to do whatever you like, and I will do it for you."

" Thank you, my dear Sasha. Listen ; you know the old
hollow oak near the arbour ? "

DOUBROVSKY. 243

" Yes, I know it, sister."

** Then, if you love me, run there as quickly as you can
and put this ring in the hollow ; but take care that nobody
sees you."

With these words, she threw the ring to him and closed
the window.

The lad picked up the ring, and ran off with all his might,
and in three minutes he arrived at the sacred tree. There
he paused, quite out of breath, and after looking round on
every side, placed the ring in the hollow. Having success-
fully accomplished his mission, he wanted to inform Maria
Kirilovna of the fact at once, when suddenly a red-haired
ragged boy darted out from behind the arbour, dashed
towards the oak and thrust his hand into the hole. Sasha,
quicker than a squirrel, threw himself upon him and seized
him with both hands.

"What are you doing here?" said he sternly.

" What business is that of yours ? " said the boy, trying to
disengage himself.

" Leave that ring alone, red head," cried Sasha, '* or I will
teach you a lesson in my own style."

Instead of replying, the boy gave him a blow in the face
with his fist ; but Sasha still held him firmly in his grasp, and
cried out at the top of his voice :

" Thieves ! thieves ! help ! help ! "

The boy tried to get away from him. He seemed to
be about two years older than Sasha, and very much
stronger; but Sasha was more agile. They struggled to-
gether for some minutes; at last the red-headed boy
gained the advantage. He threw Sasha upon the ground
and seized him by the throat. But at that moment a
strong hand grasped hold of his shaggy red hair, and
Stepan, the gardener, lifted him half a yard from the
ground.

244 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" Ah ! you red-headed beast ! " said the gardener. '* How
dare you strike the young gentleman ? "

In the meantime, Sasha had jumped to his feet and
recovered himself.

" You caught me under the arm-pits," said he, " or you
would never have thrown me. Give me the ring at once and
be off."

** It's likely ! " replied the red-headed one, and suddenly
twisting himself round, he disengaged his bristles from
Stepan's hand.

Then he started off running, but Sasha overtook him,
gave him a blow in the back, and the boy fell. The
gardener again seized him and bound him with his
belt.

" Give me the ring ! " cried Sasha.

"Wait a moment, young master," said Stepan; *'we will
lead him to the baihff to be questioned."

The gardener led the captive into the courtyard of the
manor-house, accompanied by Sasha, who glanced uneasily
at his trousers, torn and stained with the grass. Suddenly all
three found themselves face to face with Kirila Petrovitch,
who was going to inspect his stables.

" What is the meaning of this ? " he said to Stepan.

Stepan in a few words related all that had happened.

Kirila Petrovitch listened to him with attention.

" You rascal," said he, turning to Sasha : " why did you
wrestle with him ? "

" He stole a ring out of the hollow tree, papa; make him
give up the ring."

" What ring ? Out of what hollow tree ? "

"The one that Maria Kirilovna . . . the ring. . . ."
Sasha stammered and became confused. Kirila Petrovitch
frowned and said, shaking his head :

" Ah ! Maria Kirilovna is mixed up in this. Confess

DOUBROVSKY. 245

everything, or I will give you such a birching as you have
never had in your life."

"As true as heaven, papa, I . . . papa . . . Maria
Kirilovna never told me to do anything, papa."

" Stepan, go and cut me some fine, fresh birch twigs."

" Stop, papa, I will tell you all. I was running about the
courtyard to-day, when sister Maria Kirilovna opened the
window.^ I ran towards her, and she accidentally dropped
a ring, and I went and hid it in the hollow tree, and . . . and
this red-headed fellow wanted to steal the ring."

" She did not drop it accidentally, — you wanted to hide
it . . . Stepan, go and get the birch twigs."

"Papa, wait, I will tell you everything. Sister Maria
Kirilovna told me to run to the oak tree and put the ring in
the hollow ; I ran and did so, but this nasty fellow "

Kirila Petrovitch turned to the " nasty fellow " and said
to him sternly :

" To whom do you belong ? "

" I belong to my master Doubrovsky."

Kirila Petrovitch's face grew dark.

"It seems, then, that you do not recognize me as your
master. Very well. What were you doing in my garden ? "

" I was stealing raspberries."

" Ah, ah ! the servant is like his master As the pope is,
so is his parish. And do my raspberries grow upon oak
trees ? Have you ever heard so ? "

The boy did not reply.

" Papa, make him give up the ring," said Sasha.

" Silence, Alexander ! " replied Kirila Petrovitch ; " don't
forget that I intend to settle with you presently. Go to
your room. And you, squint-eyes, you seem to me to be a
knowing sort of lad ; if you confess everything to me, I will
not whip you, but will give you a five copeck piece to buy
nuts with. Give up the ring and go."

246 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

The boy opened his fist and showed that there was
nothing in his hand.

" If you don't, I shall do something to you that you little
expect. Now ! "

The boy did not answer a word, but stood with his head
bent down, looking Hke a perfect simpleton.

"Very well!" said Kirila Petrovitch : "lock him up
somewhere, and see that he does not escape, or I'll skin the
whole household."

Stepan conducted the boy to the pigeon loft, locked him
in there, and ordered the old poultry woman, Agatha, to
keep a watch upon him. ^

" There is no doubt about it : she has kept up intercourse
with that accursed Doubrovsky. But if she has really invoked

his aid " thought Kirila Petrovitch, pacing up and down

the room, and angrily whistling his favourite air, " I am

hot upon his track, at all events, and he shall not escape
me. We shall take advantage of this opportunity. . . .
Hark ! a bell ; thank God, that is the sheriff. Bring here
the boy that is locked up."

In the meantime, a small telega drove into the courtyard,
and our old acquaintance, the sheriff, entered the room, all
covered with dust.

" Glorious news ! " said Kirila Petrovitch : " I have caught
Doubrovsky."

" Thank God, Your Excellency ! " said the sheriff, his
face beaming with delight. " Where is he ? "

"That is to say, not Doubrovsky himself, but one of his
band. He will be here presently. He will help us to
apprehend his chief. Here he is."

The sheriff, who expected to see some fierce-looking
brigand, was astonished to perceive a lad of thirteen years of
age, of somewhat delicate appearance. He turned to Kirila
Petrovitch with an incredulous look, and awaited an ex-

DOUBROVSKY. 247

planation. Kirila Petrovitch then began to relate the events
of the morning, without, however, mentioning the name of
Maria Kirilovna.

The sheriff listened to him attentively, glancing from time
to time at the young rogue, who^ assuming a look of im-
becility, seemed to be paying no attention to all that was
going on around him.

" Will Your Excellency allow me to speak to you apart ? "
said the sheriff at last.

Kirila Petrovitch conducted him into the next room and
locked the door after him.

Half an hour afterwards they returned to the hall, where
the captive was awaiting the decision respecting his fate.

"The master wished," said the sheriff to him, *'to have
you locked up in the town gaol, to be whipped, and then to
be sent to the convict settlement ; but I interceded for you
and have obtained your pardon. Untie him i"

The lad was unbound.

" Thank the master," said the sheriff.

The lad went up to Kirila Petrovitch and kissed his
hand.

"Run away home," said Kirila Petrovitch to him, "and
in future do not steal raspberries from oak trees."

The lad went out, ran merrily down the steps, and with-
out looking behind him, dashed off across the fields in the
direction of Kistenevka. On reaching the village, he
stopped at a half-ruined hut, the first from the corner, and
tapped at the window. The window was opened, and an
old woman appeared.

" Grandmother, some bread ! " said the boy : " I have
eaten nothing since this morning ; I am dying of hunger."

" Ah ! it is you, Mitia ; ^ but where have you been all this
time, you little devil ? " asked the old woman.
^ Diminutive of Dimitry (Demetrius).

248 poushkin's prose tales.

"I will tell you afterwards, grandmother. For God's
sake, some bread ! "

" Come into the hut, then."

" I haven't the time, grandmother ; I've got to run on to
another place. Bread, for the Lord's sake, bread ! "

"What a fidget !" grumbled the old woman : ** there's a
piece for you," and she pushed through the window a slice
of black bread.

The boy bit it with avidity, and then continued his course,
eating it as he went.

It was beginning to grow dark. Mitia made his way
along by the corn kilns and kitchen gardens into the
Kistenevka wood. On arriving at the two pine trees,
standing hke advanced guards before the wood, he paused,
looked round on every side, gave a shrill, abrupt whistle,
and then listened. A light and prolonged whistle was
heard in reply, and somebody came out of the wood and
advanced towards him. v

249

CHAPTER XVIIL

KIRILA PETROVITCH was pacing up and down the
hall, whistling his favourite air louder than usual.
The whole house was in a commotion ; the servants were
running about, and the maids were busy. In the courtyard
there was a crowd of people. In Maria Kirilovna*s dressing-
room, before the looking-glass, a lady, surrounded by maid-
servants, was attiring the pale, motionless young bride.
Her head bent languidly beneath the weight of her diamonds;
she started slightly when a careless hand pricked her, but
she remained silent, gazing absently into the mirror.

"Aren't you nearly finished?" said the voice of Kirila
Petrovitch at the door.

"In a minute!" replied the lady. "Maria Kirilovna,
get up and look at yourself. Is everything right ? "

Maria Kirilovna rose, but made no reply. The door was
opened.

" The bride is ready," said the lady to Kirila Petrovitch ;
"order the carriage."

" With God ! " replied Kirila Petrovitch, and taking a
sacred image from the table, " Approach, Masha," said he,
in a voice of emotion ; " I bless you . . ."

The poor girl fell at his feet and began to sob.

" Papa . . . papa . . ." she said through her tears, and
then her voice failed her.

Kirila Petrovitch hastened to give her his blessing. She
was raised up and almost carried into the carriage. Her
godmother and one of the maidservants got in with her,

250 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

and they drove off to the church. There the bridegroom
was already waiting for them. He came forward to meet
the bride, and was struck by her pallor and her strange look.
They entered the cold deserted church together, and the
door was locked behind them. The priest came out from
the altar, and the ceremony at once began.

Maria Kirilovna saw nothing, heard nothing; she had
been thinking of but one thing the whole morning : she ex-
pected Doubrovsky ; nor did her hope abandon her for one
moment. But when the priest turned to her with the
usual question, she started and felt faint; but still she
hesitated, still she expected. The priest, without waiting
for her reply, pronounced the irrevocable words.

The ceremony was over. She felt the cold kiss of her
hated husband ; she heard the flattering congratulations of
those present ; and yet she could not believe that her' life
was bound for ever, that Doubrovsky had not arrived to
deliver her. The Prince turned to her with tender words —
she did not understand them. They left the church; in
the porch was a crowd of peasants from Pokrovskoe. Her
glance rapidly scanned them, and again she exhibited her
former insensibility. The newly-married couple seated
themselves in the carriage and drove off to Arbatova,
whither Kirila Petrovitch had already gone on before, in
order to welcome the wedded pair there.

Alone with his young wife, the Prince was not in the
least piqued by her cold manner. He did not begin to
weary her with amorous protestations and ridiculous en-
thusiasm ; his words were simple and required no answer.
In this way they travelled about ten versts. The horses
dashed rapidly along the uneven country roads, and the
carriage scarcely shook upon its English springs. Suddenly
were heard cries of pursuit. The carriage stopped, and a
crowd of armed men surrounded it. A man in a half-mask

DOUBROVSKY. 2$ I

opened the door on the side where the young Princess sat,
and said to her :

"You are free! Alight."

"What does this mean?" cried the Prince. "Who are
you that "

" It is Doubrovsky," replied the Princess. •

The Prince, without losing his presence of mind, drew
from his side pocket a travelling pistol and fired at the
masked brigand. The Princess shrieked, and, filled with
horror, covered her face with both her hands. Doubrovsky
was wounded in the shoulder ; the blood was flowing. The
Prince, without losing a moment, drew another pistol; but
he was not allowed time to fire ; the door was opened, and
several strong arms dragged him out of the carriage and
snatched the pistol from him. Above him flashed several
kniyes.

"Do not touch him I" cried Doubrovsky, and his terrible
associates drew back.

" Your are free ! " continued Doubrovsky, turning to the
pale Princess.

" No ! " replied she ; " it is too late ! I am married. I
am the wife of Prince Vereisky."

*'What do you say?" cried Doubrovsky in despair.
" No ! you are not his wife. You were forced, you could
never have consented."

" I have consented, I have taken the oath," she answered
with firmness. "The Prince is my husband; give orders
for him to be set at liberty, and leave me with him. I have
not deceived you. I waited for you till the last moment
. . . but now, I tell you, now, it is too late. Let us g®."

But Doubrovsky no longer heard her. The pain of his
wound, and the violent emotion of his mind had deprived
him of all power over himself. He fell against the wheel ;
the brigands surrounded him. He managed to say a few

252 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

words to them. They placed him on horseback; two of
them held him up, a third took the horse by the bridle, and
all withdrew from the spot, leaving the carriage in the
middle of the road, the servants bound, the horses un-
harnessed, but without carrying anything away with them,
and without shedding one drop of blood in revenge for the
blood of their chief.

253

CHAPTER XIX.

IN the middle of a dense wood, on a narrow grass-plot,
rose a small earthwork, consisting of a rampart and
ditch, behind which were some huts and tents. Within the
inclosed space, a crowd of persons who, by their varied
garments and by their arms, could at once be recognized as
brigands, were having their dinner, seated bareheaded
around a large cauldron. On the rampart, by the side of a
small cannon, sat a sentinel, with his legs crossed under
him. He was sewing a patch upon a certain part of his
attire, handling his needle with a dexterity that bespoke the
experienced tailor, and every now and then raising his head
and glancing round on every side.

Although a certain ladle had passed from hand to hand
several times, a strange silence reigned among this crowd.
The brigands finished their dinner ; one after another rose
and said a prayer to God ; some dispersed among the huts,
others strolled away into the wood or lay down to sleep,
according to the Russian habit.

The sentinel finished his work, shook his garment, gazed
admiringly at the patch, stuck the needle in his sleeve, sat
astride the cannon, and began to sing a melancholy old
song with all the power of his lungs.

At that moment the door of one of the huts opened, and
an old woman in a white cap, neatly and even pretentiously
dressed, appeared upon the threshold,

"Enough of that, Stepka,"^ said she angrily. "The
* Diminutive of Stepan (Stephen).

254 poushkin's prose tales.

master is sleeping, and yet you must make that frightful
noise ; you have neither conscience nor pity."

" I beg pardon, Petrovna," replied Stepka. " I won't
do it any more. Let our little father sleep on and get
well."

The old woman withdrew into the hut, and Stepka began
to pace to and fro upon the rampart.

Within the hut, from which the old woman had emerged,
lay the wounded Doubrovsky upon a cold bed behind a
partition. Before him, upon a small table, lay his pistols,
and a sword hung near his head. The mud hut was hung
round and covered with rich carpets. In the corner was a
lady's silver toilet and mirror. Doubrovsky held in his hand
an open book, but his eyes were closed, and the old woman,
peeping at him from behind the partition, could not tell
whether he was asleep or only thinking.

Suddenly Doubrovsky started. In the fort there was a
great commotion, and Stepka came and thrust his head in
through the window of the hut.

" Father Vladimir Andreivitch ! " he cried ; " our men
are signalling — they are on our track ! "

Doubrovsky leaped from his bed, seized his arms and
issued from the hut. The brigands were noisily crowding
together in the inclosure, but on the appearance of their
chief a deep silence reigned.

*' Are all here? " asked Doubrovsky.

" All except the patrols," was the reply.

"To your places !" cried Doubrovsky, and the brigands
took up each his appointed place.

At that moment, three of the patrols ran up to the gate
of the fort. Doubrovsky went to meet them.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The soldiers are in the wood," was the reply; *'they
^re surrounding us,"

DOUBROVSKY. 255

Doubrovsky ordered the gate to be locked, and then
went himself to examine the cannon. In the wood could
be heard the sound of many voices, every moment drawing
nearer and nearer. The brigands waited in silence. Sud-
denly three or four soldiers appeared from the wood, but
immediately fell back again, firing their guns as a signal to
their comrades.

" Prepare for battle ! " cried Doubrovsky. There was a
movement among the brigands, then all was silent again.

Then was heard the noise of an approaching column ;
arms glittered among the trees, and about a hundred and
fifty soldiers dashed out of the wood and rushed with a wild
shout towards the rampart. Doubrovsky applied the match
to the cannon; the shot was successful — one soldier had
his head shot off, and two others were wounded. The
troops were thrown into confusion, but the officer in com-
mand rushed forward, the soldiers followed him and jumped
down into the ditch. The brigands fired down at them
with muskets arid pistols, and then, with axes in their hands,
they began to defend the rampart, up which the infuriated
soldiers were now climbing, leaving twenty of their com-
rades wounded in the ditch below. A hand to hand
struggle began. The soldiers were already upon the
rampart, the brigands were beginning to give way; but
Doubrovsky advanced towards the officer in command, pre-
sented his pistol at his breast, and fired. The officer fell
backwards to the ground. Several soldiers raised him in
their arms and hastened to carry him into the wood ; the
others, having lost their chief, stopped fighting. The em-
boldened brigands took advantage of this moment of hesi-
tation, and surging forward, hurled their assailants back
into the ditch. The besiegers began to run ; the brigands
with fierce yells started in pursuit of them. The victory
was decisive. Doubrovsky, trusting to the complete con-

256 poushkin's prose tales.

fusion of the enemy, stopped his followers and shut himself
up in the fortress, doubled the sentinels, forbade anyone to
absent himself, and ordered the wounded to be collected.

This last event drew the serious attention of the govern-
ment to the daring exploits of Doubrovsky. Information
was obtained of his place of retreat, and a detachment of
soldiers was sent to take him, dead or alive. Several of his
band were captured, and from these it was ascertained that
Doubrovsky was no longer among them. A few days after
the battle that we have just described, he collected all his
followers and informed them that it was his intention to
leave them for ever, and advised them to change their mode
of life:

" You have become rich under my command. Each of
you has a passport with which he will be able to make his
way safely to some distant province, where he can pass the
rest of his Hfe in ease and honest labour. But you are all
rascals, and probably do not wish to abandon your trade."

After this speech he left them, taking with him only one
of his followers. Nobody knew what became of him. At
first the truth of this testimony was doubted, for the devo-
tion of the brigands to their chief was well known, and it was
supposed that they had concocted the story to secure hiss
safety ; but after events confirmed their statement. The
terrible visits, burnings, and robberies ceased; the roads
again became safe. According to another report, Doubrovsky
had fled ^o some foreign country.

THE QUEEN OF SPADES.

THE QUEEN OF SPADES.

CHAPTER I.

THERE was a card party at the rooms of Naroumoff
of the Horse Guards. The long winter night passed
away imperceptibly, and it was five o'clock in the morning
before the company sat down to supper. Those who had
won, ate with a good appetite ; the others sat staring absently
at their empty plates. When the champagne appeared,
however, the conversation became more animated, and all
took a part in it.^.

" And how (fid you fare, Sourin ? " asked the host.

" Oh, I lost, as usual. I must confess that I am unlucky :
I play mirandole, I always keep cool, I never allow any-
thing to put me out, and yet I always lose ! "

" And you did not once allow yourself to be tempted to
back the red? . . . Your firmness astonishes me."

" But what do you think of Hermann ? " said one of the

guests, pointing to a young Engineer : " he has never had a

card in his hand in his life, he has never in his life laid a

wager, and yet he sits here till five o'clock in the morning

I watching our play."

" Play interests me very much," said Hermann : " but I
am not in the position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope
of winning the superfluous."

I " Hermann is a German : he is economical — that is all ! "
observed Tomsky. " But if there is one person that I can-

s

26o POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

not understand, it is my grandmother, the Countess Anna
Fedorovna."

" How so ? " inquired the guests.

" I cannot understand," continued Tomsky, " how it is
that my grandaiother does not punt."

" What is there remarkable about an old lady of eighty
not punting?" said Naroumoff.

" Then you do not know the reason why ? "

" No, really ; haven't the faintest idea."

" Oh ! then listen. You must know that, about sixty years
ago, my grandmother went to Paris, where she created quite
a sensation. People used to run after her to catch a glimpse
of the ' Muscovite Venus.' Richelieu made love to her, and
my grandmother maintains that he almost blew out his
brains in consequence of her cruelty. At that time ladies
used to play at faro. On one occasion at the Court, she lo3t
a very considerable sum to the Duke of Orleans. On
returning home, my grandmother removed the patches from
her face, took off her hoops, informed my grandfather of her
loss at the gaming-table, and ordered him to pay the money.
My deceased grandfather, as far as I remember, was a sort
of house-steward to my grandmother. He dreaded her like
fire ; but, on hearing of such a heavy loss, he almost went
out of his mind ; he calculated the various sums she had
lost, and pointed out to her that in six months she had
spent half a miUion of francs, that neither their Moscow nor
Saratoff estates were in Paris, and finally refused point blank
to pay the debt. My grandmother gave him a box on the
ear and slept by herself as a sign of her displeasure; The
next day she sent for her husband, hoping that this domestic
punishment had produced an effect upon him, but she found
him inflexible. For the first time in her life, she entered
into reasonings and explanations with him, thinking to be
able to convince him by pointing out to him that there are

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 261

debts and debts, and that there is a great difference between
a Prince and a coachmaker. But it was all in vain, my
grandfather still remained obdurate. But the matter did not
rest there. My grandmother did not know what to do. She
had shortly before become acquainted with a very remark-
able man. You have heard of Count St. Germain, about
whom so many marvellous stories are told. You know that
he represented himself as the Wandering Jew, as the dis-
coverer of the elixir of life, of the philosopher's stone, and so
forth. Some laughed at him as a charlatan ; but Casanova,
in his memoirs, says that he was a spy. But be that as it^
may, St. Germain, in spite of the mystery surrounding him,
was a very fascinating person, and was much sought after in
the best circles of society. Even to this day ray grandmother
retains an affectionate recollection of him, and becomes
quite angry if anyone speaks disrespectfully of him. My
grandmother knew that St. Germain had large sums of
money at his disposal She resolved to have recourse to
him, and she wrote a letter to him asking him to come to
her without delay. The queer old man immediately waited
upon her and found her overwhelmed with grief. She
described to him in the blackest colours the barbarity of her
husband, and ended by declaring that her whole hope
depended upon his friendship and amiability.

" St. Germain reflected.

*^ * I could advance you the sum you want,' said he ; * but
I know that you would not rest easy until you had paid me
back, and I should not hke to bring fresh troubles upon
you. But there is another way of getting out of your
difficulty : you can win back your money.'

" * But, my dear Count,' replied my grandmother, * I tell
you that I haven't any money left.'

" * Money is not necessary,' replied St. Germain : ' be
pleased to listen to me,*

262 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" Then he revealed to her a secret, for which each of us
would give a good deal . . ."

The young officers listened with increased attention.
Tomsky lit his pipe, puffed away for a moment and then
continued :

** That same evening my grandmother went to Versailles
to the^V^ de la reine. The Duke of Orleans kept the bank ;
my grandmother excused herself in an off-handed manner
for not having yet paid her debt, by inventing some little
story, and then began to play against him. She chose three
cards and played them one after the other : all three won
sonika^ and my grandmother recovered every farthing that
she had lost."

" Mere chance ! " said one of the guests.

" A tale ! " observed Hermann.

** Perhaps they were marked cards ! " said a third.

" I do not think so," replied Tomsky gravely.

" What ! " said Naroumoff, ** you have a grandmother
who knows how to hit upon three lucky cards in succession,
and you have never yet succeeded in getting the secret of it
out of her ? "

'' That's the deuce of it ! " replied Tomsky : " she had
four sons, one of whom was my father ; all four were deter-
mined gamblers, and yet not to one of them did she ever
reveal her secret, although it would not have been a bad
thing either for them or for me.» But this is what I Jieard
from my uncle. Count Ivan Hitch, and he assured me, on
his honour, that it was true. The late Chaplitsky — the same
who died in poverty after having squandered millions — once
lost, in his youth, about three hundred thousand roubles —
to Zoritch, if I remember rightly. He was in despair. My
grandmother, who was always very severe upon the extrava-

^ Said of a card when it wins or loses in the quickest possible time.

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 263

gance of young men, took pity, however, upon Chaplitsky.
She gave him three cards, telling him to play them one after
the other, at the same time exacting from him a solemn
promise that he would never play at cards again as long as
he lived. Chaplitsky then went to his victorious opponent,
and they began a fresh game. On the first card he staked
fifty thousand roubles and won sonika ; he doubled the
stake and won again, till at last, by pursuing the same tactics,
he won back more than he had lost ...

" But it is time to go to bed : it is a quarter to six
already."

And indeed it was already beginning to dawn: the
young men emptied their glasses and then took leave of each
other.

*^

264

CHAPTER II.

THE old Countess A was seated in her dressing-
room in front of her looking-glass. Three waiting
maids stood around her. One held a small pot of rouge,
another a box of hair-pins, and the third a tall cap with
bright red ribbons. The Countess had no longer the
slightest pretensions to beauty, but she still preserved the
habits of her youth, dressed in strict accordance with the
fashion of seventy years before, and made as long and as
careful a toilette as she would have done sixty years pre-
viously. Near the window, at an embroidery frame, sat a
young lady, her ward.

" Good morning, grandmamma," said a young officer,
entering the room. " Bonjour, Mademoiselle Lise. Grand-
mamma, I want to ask you something."

"What is it, Paul?"

" I want you to let me introduce one of my friends
to you, and to allow me to bring him to the ball on
Friday."

" Bring him direct to the ball and introduce him to me
there. Were you at B 's yesterday ? "

" Yes ; everything went off very pleasantly, and dancing
was kept up until five o'clock. How charming Eletskaia
was!"

" But, my dear, what is there charming about her ? Isn't
she like her grandmother, the Princess Daria Petrovna?
By the way, she must be very old, the Princess Daria
Petrovna."

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 265

** How do you mean, old ? " cried Tomsky thoughtlessly ;
"she died seven years ago."

The young lady raised her head and made a sign to the
young officer. He then remembered that the old Countess
was never to be informed of the death of any of her con-
temporaries, and he bit his lips. But the old Countess
heard the news with the greatest indifference.

" Dead ! " said she ; " and I did not know it. We were
appointed maids of honour at the same time, and when we
were presented to the Empress. . . ."

And the Countess for the hundredth time related to her
grandson one of her anecdotes.

" Come, Paul," said she, when she had finished her story,
" help me to get up. Lizanka,^ where is my snuff-box ? "

And the Countess with her three maids went behind a
screen to finish her toilette. Tomsky was left alone with
the young lady.

"Who is the gentleman you wish to introduce to the
Countess ? " masked Lizaveta Ivanovna in a whisper.

^* Naroumoff. Do you know him ?"

" No. Is he a soldier or a civilian ? "

"A soldier."

** Is he in the Engineers ? *'

" No, in the Cavalry. What made you think that he was
in the Engineers ? "

The young lady smiled, but made no reply.

" Paul," cried the Countess from behind the screen,
" send me some new novel, only pray don't let it be one of
the present day style."

" What do you mean, grandmother ? "

*' That is, a novel, in which the hero strangles neither his
father nor his mother, and in which there are no drowned
bodies. I have a great horror of drowned persons."

^ Diminutive of Lizaveta (Elizabeth).

266 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

"There are no such novels nowadays. Would you like a
Russian one ? "

" Are there any Russian novels ? Send me one, my dear,
pray send me one ! "

" Good-bye, grandmother : I am in a hurry. . . . Good-
bye, Lizaveta Ivanovna. What made you think that Narou-
moff was in the Engineers?"

And Tomsky left the boudoir.

Lizaveta Ivanovna was left alone : she laid aside her
work and began to look out of the window. A few moments
afterwards, at a comer house on the other side of the street,
a young officer appeared. A deep blush covered her cheeks ;
she took up her work again and bent her head down over
the frame. At the same moment the Countess returned
completely dressed.

"Order the carriage, Lizaveta," said she; "we will go
out for a drive."

Lizaveta arose from the frame and began to arrange her
work.

"What is the matter with you, my child, are you deaf?"
cried the Countess. " Order the carriage to be got ready at
once."

"I will do so this moment," replied the young lady,
hastening into the ante-room.

A servant entered and gave the Countess some books
from Prince Paul Alexandrovitch.

"Tell him that I am much obliged to him," said the
Countess. " Lizaveta ! Lizaveta ! where are you running
to?"

" I am going to dress."

"There is plenty of time, my dear. Sit down here,
Open the first volume and read to me aloud."

Her companion took the book and read a few lines.

" Louder," said the Countess. " What is the matter with

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 267

you, my child ? Have you lost your voice ? Wait — give
me that footstool — a little nearer — that will do ! "

Lizaveta read two more pages. The Countess yawned.

'* Put the book down," said she : " what a lot of nonsense !
Send it back to Prince Paul with my thanks. . . . But where
is the carriage ? "

" The carriage is ready," said Lizaveta, looking out into
the street.

" How is it that you are not dressed ? " said the Countess :
** I must always wait for you. It is intolerable, my dear ! "

Liza hastened to her room. She had not been there two
minutes, before the Countess began to ring with all her
might. The three waiting-maids came running in at one
door and the valet at another.

''How is it that you cannot hear me when I ring for
you ? " said the Countess. " Tell Lizaveta Ivanovna that I
am waiting for her."

Lizaveta returned with her hat and cloak on.

" At last yO'u are here ! " said the Countess. *' But why
such an elaborate toilette? Whom do you intend to
captivate? What sort of weather is it? It seems rather
windy."

" No, Your Ladyship, it is very calm," replied the valet.

"You never think of what you are talking about. Open
the window. So it is : windy and bitterly cold. Unharness
the horses. Lizaveta, we won't go out — there was no need
for you to deck yourself like that."

" What a life is mine ! " thought Lizaveta Ivanovna.

And, in truth, Lizaveta Ivanovna was a very unfortunate
creature. " The bread of the stranger is bitter," says Dante,
**and his staircase hard to climb." But who can know
what the bitterness of dependence is so well as the poor

companion of an old lady of quality ? The Countess A

had by no means a bad heart, but she was capricious, like a

268 poushkin's prose tales.

woman who had been spoilt by the world, as well as being
avaricious and egotistical, like all old people who have seen
their best days, and whose thoughts are with the past and
not the present. She participated in all the vanities of the
great world, went to balls, where she sat in a corner, painted
and dressed in old-fashioned style, like a deformed but in-
dispensable ornament of the ball-room ; all the guests on
entering approached her and made a profound bow, as if in
accordance with a set ceremony, but after that nobody took
any further notice of her. She received the whole town at
her house, and observed the strictest etiquette, although she
could no longer recognize the faces of people. Her nu-
merous domestics, growing fat and old in her ante-chamber
and servants' hall, did just as they liked, and vied with each
other in robbing the aged Countess in the most bare-faced
manner. Lizaveta Ivanovna was the martyr of the house-
hold. She made tea, and was reproached with using too
much sugar; she read novels aloud to the Countess, and
the faults of the author were visited upon her head ; she
accompanied the Countess in her walks, and was held
answerable for the weather or the state of the pavement.
A salary was attached to the post, but she very rarely
received it, although she was expected to dress like every-
body else, that is to say, like very few indeed. In society
she played the most pitiable role. Everybody knew her,
and nobody paid her any attention. At balls she danced
only when a partner was wanted, and ladies would only take
hold of her arm when it was necessary to lead her out of
the room to attend to their dresses. She was very self-
conscious, and felt her position keenly, and she looked about
her with impatience for a deliverer to come to her rescue ;
but the young men, calculating in their gi44«Tess, honoured
her with but very little attention, although Lizaveta Ivanovna
was a hundred times prettier than the bare-faced and cold-

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 269

hearted marriageable girls around whom they hovered.
Many a time did she quietly slink away from the glittering
but wearisome drawing-room, to go and cry in her own poor
little room, in which stood a screen, a chest of drawers, a
looking-glass and a painted bedstead, and where a tallow
candle burnt feebly in a copper candle-stick.

One morning — this was about two days after the evening
party described at the beginning of this story, and a week
previous to the scene at which we have just assisted —
Lizaveta Ivanovna was seated near the window at her
embroidery frame, when, happening to look out into the
street, she caught sight of a young Engineer officer, standing
motionless with his eyes fixed upon her window. She
lowered her head and went on again with her work. About
five minutes afterwards she looked out again — the young
officer was still standing in the same place. Not being in
the habit of coquetting with passing officers, she did not
continue to gaze out into the street, but went on sewing for
a couple of hours, without raising her head. Dinner was
announced. She rose up and began to put her embroidery
away, but glancing casually out of the window, she perceived
the officer again. This seemed to her very strange. After
dinner she went to the window with a certain feeling of
uneasiness, but the officer was no longer there — and she
thought no more about him.

A couple of days afterwards, just as she was stepping into
the carriage with the Countess, she saw him again. He was
standing close behind the door, with his face half-concealed
by his fur collar, but his dark eyes sparkled beneath his cap.
Lizaveta felt alarmed, though she knew not why, and she
trembled as she seated herself in the carriage.

On returning home, she hastened to the window —
the officer was standing in his accustomed place, with
his. eyes fixed upon Uer. She drew back, a prey to

270 poushkin's prose tales.

curiosity and agitated by a feeling which was quite new to
her.

From that time forward not a day passed without the
young officer making his appearance under the window
at the customary hour, and between him and her there was
estabUshed a sort of mute acquaintance. Sitting in her
place at work, she used to feel his approach ; and raising her
head, she would look at him longer and longer each day.
The young man seemed to be very grateful to her : she saw
with the sharp eye of youth, how a sudden flush covered his
pale cheeks each time that their glances met. After about a
week she commenced to smile at him. . . .

When Tomsky asked permission of his grandmother the
Countess to present one of his friends to her, the young
girl's heart beat violently. But hearing that Naroumoff was
not an Engineer, she regretted that by her thoughtless
question, she had betrayed her secret to the volatile
Toms-ky.

Hermann was the son of a German who had become
a naturalized Russian, and from whom he had inherited
a small capital. Being firmly convinced of the necessity of
preserving his independence, Hermann did not touch his
private income, but lived on his pay, without allowing him-
self the slightest luxury. Moreover, he was reserved and
ambitious, and his companions rarely had an opportunity of
making merry at the expense of his extreme parsimony. He
had strong passions and an ardent imagination, but his firm-
ness of disposition preserved him from the ordinary errors of
young men. Thus, though a gamester at heart, he never
touched a card, for he considered his position did not allow
him — as he said — "to risk the necessary in the hope of
winning the superfluous," yet he would sit for nights together
at the card table and follow with feverish anxiety the different
turns of the game.

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 2^1

The story of the three cards had produced a powerful impres-
sion upon his imagination, and all night long he could think
of nothing else " If," he thought to himself the following
evening, as he walked along the streets of St. Petersburg,
" if the old Countess would but reveal her secret to me ! if
she would only tell me the names of the three winning cards.
Why should I not try my fortune ? I must get introduced to
her and win her favour — become her lover. . . . But all that
will take time, and she is eighty- seven years old : she might
be dead in a week, in a couple of days even ! . . . But the
story itself: can it really be true? ... No ! Economy,
temperance and industry : those are my three winning cards ;
by means of them I shall be able to double my capital — in-
crease it sevenfold, and procure for myself ease and inde-
pendence."

Musing in this manner, he walked on until he found him-
self in one of the principal streets of St. Petersburg, in front
of a house of antiquated architecture. The street was blocked
with equipages ; carriages one after the other drew up in front
of the brilliantly illuminated doorway. At one moment there
stepped out on to the pavement the well-shaped little foot of
some young beauty, at another the heavy boot of a cavalry
officer, and then the silk stockijags and shoes of a member
of the diplomatic world. Furs and cloaks passed in rapid
succession before the gigantic porter at the entrance.

Hermann stopped. " Who's house is this ?" he asked of
the watchman at the corner.

" The Countess A 's," replied the watchman.

Hermann started. The strange story of the three cards
again presented itself to his imagination. He began walking
up and down before the house, thinking of its owner and her
strange secret. Returning late to his modest lodging, he
could not go to sleep for a long time, and when at last
he did doze off, he could dream of nothing but cards, green

272 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

tables, piles of banknotes and heaps of ducats. He played
one card after the other, winning uninterruptedly, and then
he gathered up the gold and filled his pockets with the notes.
When he woke up late the next morning, he sighed over the
loss of his imaginary wealth, and then sallying out into the
town, he found himself once more in front of the Countess's
residence. Some unknown power seemed to have attracted
him thither. He stopped and looked up at the windowSo
At one of these he saw a head with luxuriant black hair,
which was bent down probably over some book or an
embroidery frame. The head was raised. Hermann saw
a fresh complexion and a pair of dark eyes. That moment
decided his fate.

273

CHAPTER III.

LIZAVETA IVANOVNAhad scarcely taken off her hat
and cloak, when the Countess sent for her and again
ordered her to get the carriage ready. The vehicle drew up
before the door, and they prepared to take their seats. Just
at the moment when two footmen were assisting the old lady
to enter the carriage, Lizaveta saw her Engineer standing
close beside the wheel ; he grasped her hand ; alarm caused
her to lose her presence of mind, and the young man
disappeared — but not before he had left a letter between
her fingers. She concealed it in her glove, and during
the whole of the drive she neither saw nor heard anything.
It was the cusfom of the Countess, when out for an airing in
her carriage, to be constantly asking such questions as:
"Who was that person that met us just now? What is the
name of this bridge ? What is written on that signboard ?"
On this occasion, however, Lizaveta returned such vague
and absurd answers, that the Countess became angry with
her.

" What is the matter with you, my dear ? " she exclaimed.
" Have you taken leave of your senses, or what is it ? Do
you not hear me or understand what I say ? . . . . Heaven
be thanked, I am still in my right mind and speak plainly
enough !"

Lizaveta Ivanovna did not hear her. On returning home
she ran to her room, and drew the letter out of her glove: it
was not sealed. Lizaveta read it. The letter contained a
declaration of love ; it was tender, respectful, and copied

274 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

word for word from a German novel. But Lizaveta did not
know anything of the German language, and she was quite
delighted.

For all that, the letter caused her to feel exceedingly un-
easy. For the first time in her life she was entering into
secret and confidential relations with a young man. His
boldness alarmed her. She reproached herself for her im-
prudent behaviour, and knew not what to do. Should she
cease to sit at the window and, by assuming an appearance of
indifference towards him, put a check upon the young officer's
desire for further acquaintance with her? Should she send
his letter back to him, or should she answer him in a cold
and decided manner? There was nobody to whom she
could turn in her perplexity, for she had neither female
friend nor adviser. ... At length she resolved to reply to
him.

She sat down at her little writing-table, took pen and
paper, and began to think. Several times she began her
letter, and then tore it up : the way she had expressed her-
self seemed to her either too inviting or too cold and
decisive. At last she succeeded in writing a few lines with
which she felt satisfied.

" I am convinced," she wrote, " that your intentions are
honourable, and that you do not wish to offend me by any
imprudent behaviour, but our acquaintance must not begin
in such a manner. I return you your letter, and I hope
that I shall never have any cause to complain of this un-
deserved slight."

The next day, as soon as Hermann made his appearance,
Lizaveta rose from her embroidery, went into the drawing-
room, opened the ventilator and threw the letter into the
street, trusting that the young officer would have the percep-
tion to pick it up.

Hermann hastened forward, picked it up and then repaired

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 275

to a confectioner's shop. Breaking the seal of the envelope,
he found inside it his own letter and Lizaveta's reply. He
had expected this, and he returned home, his mind deeply
occupied with his intrigue.

Three days afterwards, a bright-eyed young girl from a
milliner's establishment brought Lizaveta a letter. Lizaveta
opened it with great uneasiness, fearing that it was a demand
for money, when suddenly she recognized Hermann's hand-
writing.

"You have made a mistake, my dear," said she: "this
letter is not for me."

"Oh, yes, it is for you," replied the girl, smiling very
knowingly. " Have the goodness to read it."

Lizaveta glanced at the letter. Hermann requested an
interview.

" It cannot be," she cried, alarmed at the audacious
request, and the manner in which it was made. "This
letter is certainly not for me."

And she tore it into fragments.

" If the letter was not for you, why have you torn it up ? *
said the girl. " I should have given it back to the person
who sent it."

" Be good enough, my dear," said Lizaveta, disconcerted
by this remark, " not to bring me any more letters for the
future, and tell the person who sent you that he ought to be
ashamed. ..."

But Hermann was not the man to be thus put off. Every
day Lizaveta received from him a letter, sent now in this
way, now in that. They were no longer translated from the
German. Hermann wrote them under the inspiration of
passion, and spoke in his own language, and they bore full
testimony to the inflexibility of his desire and the disordered
condition of his uncontrollable imagination. Lizaveta no
longer thought of sending them back to him : she became

2/6 poushkin's prose tales.

intoxicated with them and began to reply to them, and little
by little her answers became longer and more affectionate.
At last she threw out of the window to him the following
letter :

** This evening there is going to be a ball at the Embassy.
The Countess will be there. We shall remain until two
o'clock. You have now an opportunity of seeing me alone.
As soon as the Countess is gone, the servants will very pro-
bably go out, and there will be nobody left but the Swiss,
but he usually goes to sleep ih his lodge. Come about half-
past eleven. Walk straight upstairs. If you meet anybody
in the ante-room, ask if the Countess is at home. You will
be told * No,' in which case there will be nothing left for you
to do but to go away again. But it is most probable that
you will meet nobody. The maidservants will all be
together in one room. On leaving the ante-room, turn to
the left, and walk straight on until you reach the Countess's
bedroom. In the bedroom, behind a screen, you will find
two doors : the one on the right leads to a cabinet, which
the Countess never enters ; the one on the left leads to a
corridor, at the end of which is a little winding staircase ;
this leads to my room."

Hermann trembled like a tiger, as he waited for the
appointed time to arrive. At ten o'clock in the evening he
was already in front of the Countess's house. The weather
was terrible ; the wind blew with great violence ; the sleety
snow fell in large flakes ; the lamps emitted a feeble light,
the streets were deserted ; from time to time a sledge, drawn
by a sorry-looking hack, passed by, on the look-out for a
belated passenger. Hermann was enveloped in a thick over-
coat, and felt neither wind nor snow.

At last the Countess's carriage drew up. Hermann saw
two footmen carry out in their arms the bent form of the old
lady, wrapped in sable fur, and immediately behind her, cla<

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 277

in a warm mantle, and with her head ornamented with a
wreath of fresh flowers, followed Lizaveta. The door was
closed. The carriage rolled away heavily through the yield-
ing snow. The porter shut the street-door; the windows
became dark.

Hermann began walking up and down near the deserted
house ; at length he stopped under a lamp, and glanced at
his watch : it was twenty minutes past eleven. He remained
standing under the lamp, his eyes fixed upon the watch,
impatiently waiting for the remaining minutes to pass. At
half-past eleven precisely, Hermann ascended the steps of
the house, and made his way into the brightly-illuminated
vestibule. The porter was not there. Hermann hastily
ascended the staircase, opened the door of the ante-room
and saw a footman sitting asleep in an antique chair by the
side of a lamp. With a light firm step Hermann passed by
him. The drawing-room and dining-room were in darkness,
but a feeble reflection penetrated thither from the lamp in
the ante-roon\^

Hermann reached the Countess's bedroom. Before a
shrine, which was full of old images, a golden lamp was
burning. Faded stufled chairs and divans with soft cushions
stood in melancholy symmetry around the room, the walls
of which were hung with China silk. On one side of the
room hung two portraits painted in Paris by Madame
Lebrun. One of these represented a stout, red-faced man
of about forty years of age in a bright-green uniform and
with a star upon his breast; the other — a beautiful young
woman, with an aquiline nose, forehead curls and a rose in
lier powdered hair. In the corners stood porcelain shepherds
and shepherdesses, dining-room clocks from the workshop
of the celebrated Lefroy, bandboxes, roulettes, fans and the
various playthings for the amusement of ladies that were in

278 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

vogue at the end of the last century, when Montgolfier's
balloons and Mesmer's magnetism were the rage. Hermann
stepped behind the screen. At the back of it stood a little
iron bedstead ; on the right was the door which led to the
cabinet ; on the left — the other which led to the corridor.
He opened the latter, and saw the little winding staircase
which led to the room of the poor companion. . . . But he
retraced his steps and entered the dark cabinet.

The time passed slowly. All was still. The clock in the
drawing-room struck twelve; the strokes echoed through
the room one after the other, and everything was quiet
again. Hermann stood leaning against the cold stove. He
was calm; his heart beat regularly, like that of a man
resolved upon a dangerous but inevitable undertaking.
One o'clock in the morning struck; then, two; and he
heard the distant noise of carriage-wheels. An involuntary
agitation took possession of him. The carriage drew near
and stopped. He heard the sound of the carriage-steps
being let down. All was bustle within the house. The-
servants were running hither and thither, there was a con-
fusion of voices, and the rooms were lit up. Three anti-
quated chamber-maids entered the bedroom, and they were
shortly afterwards followed by the Countess who, more dead
than alive, sank into a Voltaire armchair. Hermann peeped
through a chink. Lizaveta Ivanovna passed close by him,
and he heard her hurried steps as she hastened up the Uttle
spiral staircase. For a moment his heart way assailed by
something like a pricking of conscience, but the emotion
was only transitory, and his heart became petrified as before.

The Countess began to undress before her looking-glass.
Her rose-bedecked cap was taken off, and then her powdered
wig was removed from off her white and closely-cut hair.
Hairpins fell in showers around her. Her yellow satin dress,
brocaded with silver, fell down at her swollen feet

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 2/9

Hermann was a witness of the repugnant mysteries of her
toilette; at last the Countess was in her night-cap and
(hessing-gown, and in this costume, more suitable to her
age, she appeared less hideous and deformed.

Like all old people in general, the Countess suffered from
sleeplessness. Having undressed, she seated herself at the
window in a Voltaire armchair and dismissed her maids.
The candles were taken away, and once more the room was
left with only one lamp burning in it. The Countess sat
there looking quite yellow, mumbhng with her flaccid lips
and swaying to and fro. Her dull eyes expressed complete
vacancy of mind, and, looking at her, one would have thought
that the rocking of her body was not a voluntary action of
her own, but was produced by the action of some concealed
galvanic mechanism.

Suddenly the death-like face assumed an inexplicable
expression.' The lips ceased to tremble, the eyes be-
came animated : before the Countess stood an unknown
man.

"Do not be alarmed, for Heaven's sake, do not be
alarmed ! " said he in a low but distinct voice. " I have no
intention of doing you any harm, I have only come to ask a
favour of you."

The old woman looked at him in silence, as if she had

iOt heard what he had said. Hermann thought that she

as deaf, and, bending down towards her ear, he repeated

hat he had said. The aged Countess remained silent as

efore.

"You can insure the happiness of my life" continued
Hermann, " and it will cost you nothing. I know that you
can name three cards in order "

Hermann stopped. The Countess appeared now to
understand what he wanted ; she seemed as if seeking for
words to reply.

28o poushkin's prose tales.

" It was a joke," she replied at last : " I assure you it was
only a joke."

" There is no joking about the matter," replied Hermann
angrily. " Remember Chaplitsky, whom you helped to win."

The Countess became visibly uneasy. Her features ex-
pressed strong emotion, but they quickly resumed their
former immobility.

*'Can you not name me these three winning cards?"
continued Hermann.

The Countess remained silent ; Hermann continued :

" For whom are you preserving your secret ? For your
grandsons ? They are rich enough without it ; they do not
know the worth of money. Your cards would be of no use to
a spendthrift. He who cannot preserve his paternal inheri-
tance, will die in want, even though he had a demon at his
service. I am not a man of that sort ; I know the value of
money. Your three cards will not be thrown away upon
me. Come!" . . .

He paused and tremblingly awaited her reply. The
Countess remained silent ; Hermann fell upon his knees.

" If your heart has ever known the feeling of love," said
he, " if you remember its rapture, if you have ever smiled at
the cry of your new-born child, if any human feeling has
ever entered into your breast, I entreat you by the feelings
of a wife, a lover, a mother, by all that is most sacred in
life, not to reject my prayer. Reveal to me your secret.
Of what use is it to you ? . . . May be it is connected with
some terrible sin, with the loss of eternal salvation, with
some bargain with the devil. . . . Reflect, — you are old;
you have not long to live — I am ready to take your sins
upon my soul. Only reveal to me your secret. Remember
that the happiness of a man is in your hands, that not only
I, but my children, and grandchildren will bless your memory
and reverence you as a saint. ..."

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 28 1

The old Countess answered not a word.

Hermann rose to his feet.

" You old hag 1 " he exclaimed, grinding his teeth, " then
I will make you answer ! "

With these words he drew a pistol from his pocket.

At the sight of the pistol, the Countess for the second
time exhibited strong emotion. She shook her head and
raised her hands as if to protect herself from the shot . . .
then she fell backwards and remained motionless.

" Come, an end to this childish nonsense ! " said Hermann,
taking hold of her hand. "I ask you for the last time:
will you tell me the names of your three cards, or will you
not?"

The Countess made no reply. Hermann perceived that
Bhe was dead !

■/

282

CHAPTER IV.

LIZAVETA IVANOVNA was sitting in her room, still
in her ball dress, lost in deep thought. On returning
home, she had hastily dismissed the chambermaid who very
reluctantly came forward to assist her, saying that she would
undress herself, and with a trembling heart had gone up to
her own room, expecting to find Hermann there, but yet
hoping not to find him. At the first glance she convinced
herself that he was not there, and she thanked her fate for
having prevented him keeping the appointment. She sat
down without undressing, and began to recall to mind all
the circumstances which in so short a time had carried her
so far. It was not three weeks since the time when she
first saw the young officer from the window — and yet she
was already in correspondence with him, and he had suc-
ceeded in inducing her to grant him a nocturnal interview !
She knew his name only through his having written it at the
bottom of some of his letters ; she had never spoken to him,
had never heard his voice, and had never heard him spoken
of until that evening. But, strange to say, that very evening
at the ball, Tomsky, being piqued with the young Princess

Pauline N , who, contrary to her usual custom, did not

flirt with him, wished to revenge himself by assuming an air
of indifference : he therefore engaged Lizaveta Ivanovna and
danced an endless mazurka with her. During the whole of
the time he kept teasing her about her partiality for Engineer
officers; he assured her that he knew far more than she
imagined, and some of his jests were so happily aimed, that

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 283

Lizaveta thought several times that her secret was known to
him.

**From whom have you learnt all this?" she asked,
smiling.

"From a friend of a person very well known to you,"
replied Tomsky, " from a very distinguished man."

" And who is this distinguished man ? "

** His name is Hermann."

Lizaveta made no reply ; but her hands and feet lost all
sense of feeling.

"This Hermann," continued Tomsky, "is a man of
romantic personality. He has the profile of a Napoleon, and
the soul of a Mephistopheles. I believe that he has at least
three crimes upon his conscience . . . How pale you have
become ! "

" I have a headache . . . But what did this Hermann —
or whatever his name is — tell you ? "

" Hermann is very much dissatisfied with his friend : he
says that in his place he would act very differently ... I
even think that Hermann himself has designs upon you ; at
least, he listens very attentively to all that his friend has to
say about you."

" And where has he seen me ? "

"In church, perhaps; or on the parade — God alone
knows where. It may have been in your room, while you
were asleep, for there is nothing that he "

Three ladies approaching him with the question : " oubli
ou regret 2 " interrupted the conversation, which had become
so tantalizingly interesting to Lizaveta.

The lady chosen by Tomsky was the Princess Pauline
herself. She succeeded in effecting a reconciliation with
him during the numerous turns of the dance, after which he
conducted her to her chair. On returning to his place,
Tomsky thought no more either of Hermann or Lizaveta.

284 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

She longed to renew the interrupted conversation, but the
mazurka came to an end, and shortly afterwards the old
Countess took her departure.

Tomsky's words were nothing more than the customary
small talk of the dance, but they sank deep into the soul of
the young dreamer. The portrait, sketched by Tomsky,
coincided with the picture she had formed within her own
mind, and thanks to the latest romances, the ordinary
countenance of her admirer became invested with attributes
capable of alarming her and fascinating her imagination at
the same time. She was now sitting with her bare arms
crossed and with her head, still adorned with flowers, sunk
upon her uncovered bosom. Suddenly the door opened
and Hermann entered. She shuddered.

" Where were you ? " she asked in a terrified whisper.

" In the old Countess's bedroom," replied Hermann : " I
have just left her. The Countess is dead."

" My God ! What do you say ? "

"And I am afraid," added Hermann, "that I am the
cause of her death."

Lizaveta looked at him, and Tomsky's words found an
echo in her soul : " This man has at least three crimes upon
his conscience ! " Hermann sat down by the window near
her, and related all that had happened.

Lizaveta listened to him in terror. So all those passionate
letters, those ardent desires, this bold obstinate pursuit — all
this was not love ! Money — that was what his soul yearned
for ! She could not satisfy his desire and make him happy !
The poor girl had been nothing but the blind tool of a
robber, of the murderer of her aged benefactress ! . . . She
wept bitter tears of agonized repentance. Hermann gazed
at her in silence : his heart, too, was a prey to violent
emotion, but neither the tears of the poor girl, nor the
wonderful charm of her beauty, enhanced by her grief, could

J

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 285

produce any impression upon his hardened soul. He felt no
pricking of conscience at the thought of the dead old
woman. One thing only grieved him : the irreparable loss
of the secret from which he had expected to obtain great
wealth.

" You are a monster ! " said Lizaveta at last.

** I did not wish for her death," replied Hermann : " my
pistol was not loaded."

Both remained silent.

The day began to dawn. Lizaveta extinguished her
candle : a pale light illumined her room. She wiped her
tear-stained eyes and raised them towards Hermann : he
was sitting near the window, with his arms crossed and with
a fierce frown upon his forehead. In this attitude he bore a
striking resemblance to the portrait of Napoleon. This
resemblance struck Lizaveta even.

" How shall I get you out of the house ? " said she at
last. " I^ thought of conducting you down the secret stair-
case, but in th^t case it would be necessary to go through
the Countess's bedroom, and I am afraid."

"Tell me how to find this secret staircase — I will go
alone."

Lizaveta arose, took from her drawer a key, handed it to
Hermann and gave him the necessary instructions. Hermann
pressed her cold, powerless hand, kissed her bowed head,
and left the room.
B He descended the winding staircase, and once more
entered the Countess's bedroom. The dead old lady sat as
if petrified; her face expressed profound tranquillity.
Hermann stopped before her, and gazed long and earnestly
at her, as if he wished to convince himself of the terrible
reality; at last he entered the cabinet, felt behind the
tapestry for the door, and then began to descend the dark
staircase, filled with strange emotions. " Down this very

286 poushkin's prose tales.

staircase," thought he, " perhaps coming from the very same
room, and at this very same hour sixty years ago, there may
have glided, in an embroidered coat, with his hair dressed
h Poiseau royal and pressing to his heart his three-cornered
hat, some young gallant who has long been mouldering in
the grave, but the heart of his aged mistress has only to-day
ceased to beat. ..."

At the bottom of the staircase Hermann found a door,
which he opened with a key, and then traversed a corridor
which conducted him into the street.

28/

CHAPTER V.

THREE days after the fatal night, at nine o'clock in the
morning, Hermann repaired to the Convent of ,

where the last honours were to be paid to the mortal remains
of the old Countess. Although feeling no remorse, he could
not altogether stifle the voice of conscience, which said to
him : *' You are the murderer of the old woman ! " In spite
of his entertaining very little religious belief, he was exceed-
ingly superstitious; and believing that the dead Countess
might exercise an evil influence on his life, he resolved to
be present at her obsequies in order to implore her pardon.

The church was full. It was with difficulty that Hermann
made his way' through the crowd of people. The coffin was
placed upon a rich catafalque beneath a velvet baldachin.
The deceased Countess lay within it, with her hands crossed
upon her breast, with a lace cap upon her head and dressed
in a white satin robe. Around the catafalque stood the
members of her household : the servants in black caftans^
with armorial ribbons upon their shoulders, and candles in
their hands \ the relatives — children, grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren — in deep mourning.

Nobody wept ; tears would have been une affectation. The
Countess was so old, that her death could have surprised
nobody, and her relatives had long looked upon her as
being out of the world. A famous preacher pronounced the
funeral sermon. In simple and touching words he described
the peaceful passing away of the righteous, who had passed
long years in calm preparation for a Christian end. "The

288 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

angel of death found her," said the orator, " engaged in
pious meditation and waiting for the midnight bridegroom."

The service concluded amidst profound silence. The
relatives went forward first to take farewell of the corpse.
Then followed the numerous guests, who had come to
render the last homage to her who for so many years had
been a participator in their frivolous amusements. After
these followed the members of the Countess's household.
The last of these was an old woman of the same age as the
deceased. Two young women led her forward by the hand.
She had not strength enough to bow down to the ground —
she merely shed a few tears and kissed the cold hand of her
mistress.

Hermann now resolved to approach the coffin. He
knelt down upon the cold stones and remained in that
position for some minutes ; at last he arose, as pale
as the deceased Countess herself ; he ascended the steps of
the catafalque and bent over the corpse. ... At that
moment it seemed to him that the dead woman darted
a mocking look at him and winked with one eye. Hermann
started back, took a false step and fell to the ground.
Several persons hurried forward and raised him up. At
the same moment Lizaveta Ivanovna was borne fainting into
the porch of the church. This episode disturbed for some
minutes the solemnity of the gloomy ceremony. Among
the congregation arose a deep murmur, and a tall thin
chamberlain, a near relative of the deceased, whispered
in the ear of an Englishman who was standing near him,
that the young officer was a natural son of the Countess, to
which the Englishman coldly replied : " Oh ! "

During the whole of that day, Hermann was strangely
excited. Repairing to an out-of-the-way restaurant to dine,
he drank a great deal of wine, contrary to his usual custom,
in the hope of deadening his inward agitation. But the

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 289

vs'ine only served to excite his imagination still more. On
returning home, he threw himself upon his bed without
undressing, and fell into a deep sleep.

When he woke up it was already night, and the moon was
shining into the room. He looked at his watch : it was a
quarter to three. Sleep had left him ; he sat down upon his
bed and thought of the funeral of the old Countess.

At that moment somebody in the street looked in at his
window, and immediately passed on again. Hermann paid
no attention to this incident. A few moments afterwards he
heard the door of his ante-room open. Hermann thought
that it was his orderly, drunk as usual, returning from
some nocturnal expedition, but presently he heard footsteps
that were unknown to him : somebody was walking softly
over the floor in slippers. The door opened, and a woman
dressed in white, entered the room. Hermann mistook her
for his old nurse, and wondered what could bring her there
at that hour of, the night. But the white woman glided

rapidly across-*' the room and stood before him and

Hermann recognized the Countess !

" I have come to you against my wish," she said in
a firm voice : " but I have been ordered to grant your
request. Three, seven, ace, will win for you if played
in succession, but only on these conditions : that you
do not play more than one card in twenty-four hours,
and that you never play again during the rest of your
life. I forgive you my death, on condition that you
marry my companion, Lizaveta Ivanovna."

With these words she turned round very quietly, walked
with a shuffling gait towards the door and disappeared.
Hermann heard the street-door open and shut, and again he
saw someone look in at him through the window.

For a long time Hermann could not recover himself.
He then rose up and entered the next room. His orderly

290 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

was lying asleep upon the floor, and he had much difficulty
in waking him. The orderly was drunk as usual, and no in-
formation could be obtained from him. The street-dooi
was locked. Hermann returned to his room, lit his candle,
and wrote down all the details of his vision.

I

291

CHAPTER VI.

TT^WO fixed ideas can no more exist together in the
X moral world than two bodies can occupy one and the
fame place in the physical world. '* Three, seven, ace "
)Oon drove out of Hermann's mind the thought of the dead
Ilountess. ** Three, seven, ace " were perpetually running
hrough his head and continually being repeated by his lips,
[f he saw a young girl, he would say : " How slender she is !
|uite like the three of hearts." If anybody asked : " What
s the time ? " he would reply : " Five minutes to seven."
ivery stout man that he saw reminded him of the ace.
'Three, seven, ace" haunted him in his sleep, and assumed
ill possible shapes. The threes bloomed before him in the
brms of magnificent flowers, the sevens were represented by
jothic portals, and the aces became transformed into
;igantic spiders. One thought alone occupied his whole
nind — to make a profitable use of the secret which he
lad purchased so dearly. He thought of applying for a
urlough so as to travel abroad. He wanted to go to
^aris and tempt fortune in some of the public gambling-'
lOuses that abounded there. Chance spared him all this
rouble.

There was in Moscow a society of rich gamesters, pre-
ided over by the celebrated Chekalinsky, who had passed
11 his life at the card-table and had amassed millions,
ccepting bills of exchange for his winnings and paying
is losses in ready money. His long experience secured for
im the confidence of hjs companions, and his open house,

U

I

292 POUSHKIN'S prose TALES.

his famous cook, and his agreeable and fascinating manners
gained for him the respect of the public. He came to St.
Petersburg. The young men of the capital flocked to
his rooms, forgetting balls for cards, and preferring the
emotions of faro to the seductions of flirting. Naroumoff
conducted Hermann to Chekalinsky's residence.

They passed through a suite of magnificent rooms, filled
with attentive domestics. The place was crowded. Gene-
rals and Privy Counsellors were playing at whist ; young
men were lolling carelessly upon the velvet-covered sofas,
eating ices and smoking pipes. In the drawing-room, at the
head of a long table, around which were assembled about a
score of players, sat the master of the house keeping the bank.
He was a man of about sixty years of age, of a very dignified
appearance ; his head was covered with silvery- white hair ;
his full, florid countenance expressed good-nature, and his
eyes twinkled with a perpetual smile. Naroumofl" intro-
duced Hermann to him. Chekalinsky shook him by the
hand in a friendly manner, requested him not to stand on
ceremony, and then went on dealing.

The game occupied some time. On the table lay more
than thirty cards. Chekalinsky paused after each throw, in
order to give the players time to arrange their cards and
note down their losses, listened politely to their requests,
and more politely still, put straight the corners of cards that
some player's hand had chanced to bend. At last the game
was finished. Chekalinsky shuffled the cards and prepared
to deal again.

*'Will you allow me to take a card?" said Hermann,
stretching out his hand from behind a stout gentleman who
was punting.

Chekalinsky smiled and bowed silently, as a sign of
acquiescence. Naroumoff laughingly congratulated Her-
mann on his abjuration of that abstention from cards which

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 293

he had practised for so long a period, and wished him a
lucky beginning.

" Stake ! " said Hermann, writing some figures with chalk
on the back of his card.

*' How much?" asked the banker, contracting the muscles
of his eyes ; " excuse me, I cannot see quite clearly."

" Forty-seven thousand roubles," replied Hermann.

At these words every head in the room turned suddenly
round, and all eyes were fixed upon Hermann.

" He has taken leave of his senses ! " thought Naroumof^.

" Allow me to inform you," said Chekalinsky, with his
eternal smile, " that you are playing very high ; nobody here
has ever staked more than two hundred and seventy-five
roubles at once."

"Very well," replied Hermann; "but do you accept my
card or not ? "

Chekalinsky bowed in token of consent.

" I only wish to observe," said he, " that although I have
the greatest Qdhfidence in my friends, I can only play
against ready money. For my own part, I am quite con-
vinced that your word is sufficient, but for the sake of the
order of the game, and to facilitate the reckoning up, I must
ask you to put the money on your card."

Hermann drew from his pocket a bank-note and handed
it to Chekalinsky, who, after examining it in a cursory
manner, placed it on Hermann's card.

He began to deal. On the right a nine turned up, and
on the left a three.

" I have won ! " said Hermann, showing his card.

A murmur of astonishment arose among the players. Che-
kalinsky frowned, but the smile quickly returned to his face.

" Do you wish me to settle with you ? " he said to
Hermann.

" If you please," replied the latter.

294 poushkin's prose tales.

Chekalinsky drew from his pocket a number of bank-
notes and paid at once. Hermann took up his money and
left the table. Naroumoff could not recover from his
astonishment. Hermann drank a glass of lemonade and
returned home.

The next evening he again repaired to Chekalinsky's.
The host was dealing. Hermann walked up to the table ;
the punters immediately made room for him. Chekalinsky
greeted him with a gracious bow.

Hermann waited for the next deal, took a card and placed
upon it his forty-seven thousand roubles, together with his
winnings of the previous evening.

Chekalinsky began to deal. A knave turned up on the
right, a seven on the left.

Hermann showed his seven.

There was a general exclamation. Chekalinsky was
evidently ill at ease, but he counted out the ninety-four
thousand roubles and handed them over to Hermann, who
pocketed them in the coolest manner possible and im-
mediately left the house.

The next evening Hermann appeared again at the table.
Everyone was expecting him. The generals and Privy
Counsellors left their whist in order to watch such extra-
ordinary play. The young officers quitted their sofas, and
even the servants crowded into the room. All pressed
round Hermann. The other players left off punting, im-
patient to see how it would end. Hermann stood at the
table and prepared to play alone against the pale, but still
smiling Chekalinsky. Each opened a pack of cards.
Chekalinsky shuffled. Hermann took a card and covered
it with a pile of bank-notes. It was like a duel. Deep
silence reigned around.

Chekalinsky began to deal ; his hands trembled. On the
right a queen turned up, and on the left an ace.

THE QUEEN OF SPADES. 295

" Ace has won ! " cried Hermann, showing his card.

" Your queen has lost," said Chekalinsky, politely.

Hermann started ; instead of an ace, there lay before him
the queen of spades ! He could not believe his eyes, nor
could he understand how he had made such a mistake.

At that moment it seemed to him that the queen of
spades smiled ironically and winked her eye at him. He
was struck by her remarkable resemblance. . . .

" The old Countess ! " he exclaimed, seized with terror.

Chekalinsky gathered up his winnings. For some time,
Hermann remained perfectly motionless. When at last
he left the table, there was a general commotion in the
room.

" Splendidly punted ! " said the players. Chekalinsky
shuffled the cards afresh, and the game went on as usual.
* # # * *

Hermann went oai 01 niS mind, and is now confined in
room Number 17 of the Oboukhoff Hospital. He never
answers any 'questions, but he constantly mutters with
unusual rapidity : " Three, seven, ace ! Three, seven,
queen ! "

Lizaveta Ivanovna has married a very amiable young
man, a son of the former steward of the old Countess. He
is in the service of the State somewhere, and is in receipt of
a good income. Lizaveta is also supporting a poor re-
lative.

Tomsky has been promoted to the rank of captain, and
has become the husband of the Princess Pauline.

I

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL.

■/

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL.

IN one of our most distant governments was situated the
domain of Ivan Petrovitch Berestoff. In his youth he
had served in the Guards, but having quitted the service at
the beginning of the year 1797, he repaired to his estate, and
since that time he had not stirred away from it. He had
married a poor but noble lady, who died in child-bed at a
time when he was absent from home on a visit to one of the
outlying fields of his domain. He soon found consolation in
domestic occupations. He built a house on a plan of his
own, established a cloth manufactory, made good use of his
revenues, and began to consider himself the most sensible
man in the whole country roundabout, and in this he was
not contradicted by those of his neighbours who came to
visit him with their families and their dogs. On week-days
he wore a plush jacket, but on Sundays and holidays he
appeared in a surtout of cloth that had been manufactured
on his own premises. He himself kept an account of all his
expenses, and he never read anything except the " Senate
Gazette."

In general he was liked, although he was considered
proud. There was only one person who was not on good
terms with him, and that was Gregory Ivanovitch Mouromsky,
his nearest neighbour. This latter was a genuine Russian
noble of the old stamp. After having squandered in Moscow
the greater part of his fortune, and having become a widower
about the same time, he retired to his last remaining estate,

30O poushkin's prose tales.

where he continued to indulge in habits of extravagance, but
of a new kind. He laid out an English garden, on which
he expended nearly the whole of his remaining revenue.
His grooms were dressed like English jockeys, his daughter
had an English governess, and his fields were cultivated
after the English method.

" But after the foreign manner Russian com does not bear
fruit," and in spite of a considerable reduction in his
expenses, the revenues of Gregory Ivanovitch did not
increase. He found means, even in the country, of con-
tracting new debts. Nevertheless he was not considered a
fool, for he was the first landowner in his government who
conceived the idea of placing his estate under the safeguard
of a council of tutelage — a proceeding which at that time
was considered exceedingly complicated and venturesome.
Of all those who censured him, BerestofF showed himself
the most severe. Hatred of all innovation was a distinguish-
ing trait in his character. He could not bring himself to
speak calmly of the Anglomania of his neighbour, and he
constantly found occasion to criticise him. If he showed his
possessions to a guest, in reply to the praises bestowed upon
him for his economical arrangements, he would say with a
sly smile : -

" Ah yes, it is not the same with me as with my neighbour
Gregory Ivanovitch. What need have we to ruin ourselves
in the English style,, when we have enough to do to keep the
wolf from the door- in the Russian style ? "

These, and similar sarcastic remarks, thanks to the zeal of
obliging neighbours, did not fail to reach the ears of Gregory
Ivanovitch greatly embellished. The Anglomaniac bore
criticism as impatiently as our journalists. He became
furious, and called his traducer a bear and a countryman.

Such were the relations between the two proprietors,
when the son of Berestoff returned home to his father's

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 3OI

estate. He had been educated at the University of ,

and was anxious to enter the military service, but to this his
father would not give his consent. For the civil service the
young man had not the slightest inclination, and as neither
felt inclined to yield to the other, the young Alexei lived in
the meantime like a nobleman, and allowed his moustache
to grow at all events.^

Alexei was indeed a fine young fellow, and it would really
have been a pity were his slender figure never to be set off
to advantage by a military uniform, and were he to be com-
pelled to spend his youth in bending over the papers of the
chancery office, instead of bestriding a gallant steed. The
neighbours, observing how he was always first in the chase,
and always out of the beaten tracks, unanimously agreed
that he would never make a useful official. The young ladies
gazed after him, and sometimes cast stolen glances at him,
but Alexei troubled himself very little about them, and they
attributed this insensibility to some secret love affair.
Indeed, there passed from hand to hand a copy of the
address of one of his letters : '* To Akoulina Petrovna
Kourotchkin, in Moscow, opposite the Alexeivsky Monastery,
in the house of the coppersmith Saveleff, with the request
that she will forward this letter to A. N. R."

Those of my readers who have never lived in the country,
cannot imagine how charming these provincial young ladies
are ! Brought up in the pure air, under the shadow of the
apple trees of their gardens, they derive their knowledge of
the world and of life chiefly from books. Solitude, freedom,
and reading develop very early within them sentiments and
passions unknown to our town-bred beauties. For the
young ladies of the country the sound of the post-bell is an
event; a journey to the nearest town marks an epoch in

^ It was formerly the custom in Russia for military men only to wear
the moustache.

302 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

their lives, and the visit of a guest leaves behind a long, and
sometimes an eternal recollection. Of course everybody is
at liberty to laugh at some of their peculiarities, but the
jokes of a superficial observer cannot nullify their essential
merits, the chief of which is that personality of character,
that individualite^ without which, in Jean Paul's opinion,
there can be no human greatness. In the capitals, women
receive perhaps a better instruction, but intercourse with the
world soon levels the character and makes their souls as
uniform as their head-dresses. This is said neither by way
of praise nor yet by way of censure, but " nota nostra
manet^^ as one of the old commentators writes.

It can easily be imagined what impression Alexei would
produce among the circle of our young ladies. He was the
first who appeared before them gloomy and disenchanted,
the first who spoke to them of lost happiness and of his
blighted youth ; in addition to which he wore a mourning
ring engraved with a death's head. All this was something
quite new in that distant government. The young ladies
simply went out of their minds about him.

But not one of them felt so much interest in him as the
daughter of our Anglomaniac Liza, or Betsy, as Gregory
Ivanovitch usually called her. As their parents did not
visit each other, she had not yet seen Alexei, even when he
had become the sole topic of conversation among all the
young ladies of the neighbourhood. She was seventeen
years of age. Dark eyes illuminated her swarthy and
exceedingly pleasant countenance. She was an only child,
and consequently she was perfectly spoiled. Her wanton-
ness and continual pranks delighted her father and filled
with despair the heart of Miss Jackson, her governess, an
affected old maid of forty, who powdered her face and
darkened her eyebrows, read through " Pamela " ^ twice a
* A novel written by Samuel Richardson, and first published in 1740.

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 303

year, for which she received two thousand roubles, and felt
almost bored to death in this barbarous Russia of ours.

Liza was waited upon by Nastia, who, although somewhat
older, was quite as giddy as her mistress. Liza was very
fond of her, revealed to her all her secrets, and planned
pranks together with her ; in a word, Nastia was a far more
important person in the village of Priloutchina, than the"
trusted confidante in a French tragedy.

" Will you allow me to go out to-day on a visit ? " said
Nastia one morning, as she was dressing her mistress.

" Very well ; but where are you going to ? "

"To Tougilovo, to the Berestoffs. The wife of their cook
is going to celebrate her name-day to-day, and she came
over yesterday to invite us to dinner.^'

"That's curious,^' said Liza : "the masters are at daggers
drawn, but the servants fete each other/'

" What have the masters to do with us ? " replied Nastia.
"Besides, I belong to you, and not to your papa. You
have not had atiiy quarrel with young Berestoff j let the old
ones quarrel and fight, if it gives them any pleasure."

"Try and see Alexei Berestoff, Nastia, and then tell me
what he looks like and what sort of a person he is,"

Nastia promised to do so, and all day long Liza waited
with impatience for her return. In the evening Nastia made
her appearance.

"Well, Lizaveta Gregorievna," said she, on entering the
room, "I have seen young Berestoff, and I had ample
opportunity for taking a good look at him, for we have been
together all day."

" How did that happen ? Tell me about it, tell me every-
thing about it."

"Very well. We set out, I, Anissia Egorovna, Nenila,
Dounka. . . ."
. " Yes, yes^ I know. And then f "

304 poushkin's prose tales.

"With your leave, I will tell you everything in detail.
We arrived just in time for dinner. The room was full ol
people. The Kolbinskys were there, as well as the Zakha-
revskys, the Khloupinskys, the bailiff's wife and her daugh-
ters. . . ."

"Well, andBerestoff?"

*'Wait a moment. We sat down to table; the bailiff's
wife had the place of honour. I sat next to her . . . the
daughters pouted and didn't like it, but I didn't care about
them. . . ."

"Good heavens, Nastia, how tiresome you are with your
never-ending details ! "

" How impatient you are ! Well, we rose from the table
... we had been sitting down for three hours, and the
dinner was excellent : pastry, blanc-manges, blue, red and
striped. . . . Well, we left the table and went into the
garden to have a game at catching one another, and it was
then that the young lord made his appearance."

" Well, and is it true that he is so very handsome ? "
" Exceedingly handsome : tall, well-built, and with red
cheeks. . . ."

" Really ? And I was under the impression that he was

fair. Well, and how did he seem to you ? Sad, thoughtful ? "

" Nothing of the kind ! I have never in my life seen

such a frolicsome person. He wanted to join in the game

with us."

" Join in the game with you ? Impossible 1 "
"Not all impossible. And what else do you think he
wanted to do ? To kiss us all round ! "

"With your permission, Nastia, you are talking non-
sense."

"With your permission, I am not talking nonsense. I
had the greatest trouble in the world to get away from him.
He spent the whole day along with us."

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GTRL. 305

" But they say that he is in love, and hasn't eyes for any-
body."

"I don't know anything about that, but I know that he
looked at me a good deal, and so he did at Tania, the
bailiff's daughter, and at Pasha ^ Kolbinsky also. But it
cannot be said that he offended anybody — he is so very
agreeable."

"That is extraordinary! And what do they say about
him in the house?"

'* They say that he is an excellent master — so kind, so
cheerful. They have only one fault to find with him : he is
too fond of running after the young girls. But for my part,
I don't think that is a very great fault : he will grow steady
with age."

"How I should like to see him !" said Liza, with a sigh.

" What is there to hinder you from doing so ? Tougilovo
is not far from us — only about three versts. Go and take a
walk in that direction, or a ride on horseback, and you will
assuredly meejt him. He goes out early every morning with
his gun."

" No, no, that would not do. He might think that I was
running after him. Besides, our fathers are not on good
terms, so that I cannot make his acquaintance. ... Ah !
Nastia, do you know what I'll do ? I will dress myself up
as a peasant girl ! "

" Exactly ! Put on a coarse chemise and a sarafan, and
then go boldly to Tougilovo; I will answer for it that
Berestoff will not pass by without taking notice of you."

" And I know how to imitate the style of speech of the
peasants about here. Ah, Nastia 1 my dear Nastia ! what
an excellent idea 1 "

And Liza went to bed, firmly resolved on putting her plan
into execution.

^ Diminutive of Praskovia.

3o6 poushkin's prose tales.

The next morning she began to prepare for the accomplish-
ment of her scheme. She sent to the bazaar and bought
some coarse linen, some blue nankeen and some copper
buttons, and with the help of Nastia she cut out for herself
a chemise and sarafan. She then set all the female servants
to work to do the necessary sewing, so that by the evening
everything was ready. Liza tried on the new costume, and
as she stood before the mirror, she confessed to herself that
she had never looked so charming. Then she practised her
part. As she walked she made a low bow, and then tossed
her head several times, after the manner of a china cat,
spoke in the peasants' dialect, smiled behind her sleeve, and
did everything to Nastia's complete satisfaction. One thing
only proved irksome to her : she tried to walk barefooted
across the courtyard, but the turf pricked her tender feet,
and she found the stones and gravel unbearable. Nastia
immediately came to her assistance. She took the measure-
ment of Liza's foot, ran to the fields to find Trophim the
shepherd, and ordered him to make a pair of bast shoes of
the same measurement.

The next morning, almost before it was dawn, Liza was
already awake. Everybody in the house was still asleep.
Nastia went to the gate to wait for the shepherd. The
sound of a horn was heard, and the village flock defiled past
the manor-house. Trophim, on passing by Nastia, gave her
a small pair of coloured bast shoes, and received from her a
half-rouble in exchange. Liza quietly dressed herself in the
peasant's costume, whispered her instructions to Nastia with
reference to Miss Jackson, descended the back staircase
and made her way through the garden into the field beyond.

The eastern sky was all aglow, and the golden lines of
clouds seemed to be awaiting the sun, like courtiers await
their monarch. The bright sky, the freshness of the morn-
ing, the dew, the light breeze, and the singing of the birds

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 307

filled the heart of Liza with childish joy. The fear of
meeting some acquaintance seemed to give her wings, for
she flew rather than walked. But as she approached the
wood which formed the boundary of her father's estate, she
slackened her pace. Here she resolved to wait for Alexei.
Her heart beat violently, she knew not why; but is not the
fear which accompanies our youthful escapades that which
constitutes their greatest charm? Liza advanced into the
depth of the wood. The deep murmur of the waving
branches seemed to welcome the young girl. Her gaiety
vanished. Little by little she abandoned herself to sweet
reveries. She thought — but who cai;i say exactly what a
young lady of seventeen thinks of, alone in a wood, at six
o'clock of a spring morning ? And so she walked musingly
along the pathway, which was shaded on both sides by tall
trees, when suddenly a magnificent hunting dog came bark-
ing and bounding towards her. Liza became alarmed and
cried out. But at the same moment a voice called out :
'''• Tout beau ^ Sbogar^ id V . . . and a young hunter emerged
from behind a clump of bushes.

" Don't be afraid, my dear," said he to Liza : " my dog
does not bite."

Liza had already recovered from her alarm, and she im-
jmediately took advantage of her opportunity.
!' *'But, sir," said she, assuming a half-frightened, half-
jibashful expression, '*I am so afraid; he looks so fierce — he
might fly at me again."

Alexei — for the reader has already recognized him — gazed
fixedly at the young peasant-girl.

" I will accompany you if you are afraid," said he to her :
will you allow me to walk along with you ? "

** Who is to hinder you ? " replied Liza. ** Wills are free,
and the road is open to everybody.

" Where do you come from ? "

X

308 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

" From Priloutchina ; I am the daughter of Vassili the
blacksmith, and I am going to gather mushrooms." (Liza
carried a basket on her arm.) "And you, sir? From
Tougilovo, I have no doubt."

" Exactly so," replied Alexei : ** I am the young master's
valet- de-cham bre. "

Alexei wanted to put himself on an equality with her, but
Liza looked at him and began to smile.

" That is a fib," said she : " I am not such a fool as you
may think. I see very well that you are tlie young master
himself."

"Why do you think so?"

" I think so for a great many reasons."

" But "

" As if it were not possible to distinguish the master from
the servant ! You are not dressed like a servant, you do not
speak like one, and you address your dog in a different way
to us."

Liza began to please Alexei more and more. As he was
not accustomed to standing upon ceremony with peasant
girls, he wanted to embrace her ; but Liza drew back ifrom
him, and suddenly assumed such a cold and severe look,
that Alexei, although much amused, did not venture to
renew the attempt.

" If you wish that we' should remain good friends," said
she with dignity, " be good enough not to forget yourself."

'* Who taught you such wisdom ? " asked Alexei, bursting
into a laugh. " Can it be my friend Nastenka,^ the chamber-
maid to your young mistress ? See by what paths enlighten-
ment becomes diffused ! "

Liza felt that she had stepped out of her role, and she
immediately recovered herself.

* Diminutive of Nastia.

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 309

" Do you think," said she, ^* that I have never been to the
manor-house? Don't alarm yourself; I have seen and heard
a great many things. . . . But," continued she, " if I talk
to you, I shall not gather my mushrooms. Go your way,
sir, and I will go mine. Pray excuse me."

And she was about to move off, but Alexei seized hold of
her hand.

" What is your name, my dear? "

" Akoulina," replied Liza, endeavouring to disengage her
fingers from his grasp : '* but let me go, sir ; it is time for
me to return home."

"Well, my friend Akoulina, I will certainly pay a visit to
your father, Vassili the blacksmith."

" What do you say?" replied Liza quickly: "for Heaven's
sake, don't think of doing such a thing ! If it were known
at home that I had been talking to a gentleman alone in the
wood, I should fare very badly, — my father, Vassili the
blacksmith, would beat me to death."

"But I really must see you again."

" Well, then, I will come here again some time to gather
mushrooms."

"When?"

" Well, to-morrow, if you wish it."

" My dear Akoulina, I would kiss you, but I dare not. . . .
To-morrow, then, at the same time, isn't that so ? "

"Yes, yes!"

" And you will not deceive me ? "

" I will not deceive you."

" Swear it."

" Well, then, I swear by Holy Friday that I will come."

The young people separated. Liza emerged from the
wood, crossed the field, stole into the garden and hastened
to the place where Nastia awaited her. There she
changed her costume, replying absently to the questions of

310 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

her impatient confidante, and then she repaired to the
parlour. The cloth was laid, the breakfast was ready, and
Miss Jackson, already powdered and laced up, so that she
looked like a wine-glass, was cutting thin slices of bread and
butter.

Her father praised her for her early walk.

" There is nothing so healthy," said he, " as getting up at
daybreak."

Then he cited several instances of human longevity,
which he had derived from the English journals, and
observed that all persons who had lived to be upwards of a
hundred, abstained from brandy and rose at daybreak,
winter and summer.

Liza did not listen to him. In her thoughts she was
going over all the circumstances of the meeting of that
morning, all the conversation of Akoulina with the young
hunter, and her conscience began to torment her. In vain
did she try to persuade herself that their conversation had
not gone beyond the bounds of propriety, and that the frolic
would be followed by no serious consequences — her con-
science spoke louder than her reason. The promise given
for the following day troubled her more than anything else,
and she almost felt resolved not to keep her solemn oath.
But then, might not Alexei, after waiting for her in vain,
make his way to the village and search out the daughter of
Vassili the blacksmith, the veritable Akoulina — a fat, pock-
marked peasant girl — and so discover the prank she had
played upon him ? This thought frightened Liza, and she
resolved to repair again to the little wood the next morning
in the same disguise as at first.

On his side, Alexei was in an ecstasy of delight. All day
long he thought of his new acquaintance ; and in his dreams
at night the form of the dark-skinned beauty appeared
before him. The morning had scarcely begun to dawn, when

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 3II

he was already dressed. Without giving himself time to
load his gun, he set out for the fields with his faithful
Sbogar, and hastened to the place of the promised
rendezvous. A half hour of intolerable waiting passed by ;
at last he caught a glimpse of a blue sarafan between the
bushes, and he rushed forward to meet his charming
Akoulina. She smiled at the ecstatic nature of his thanks,
but Alexei immediately observed upon her face traces of
sadness and uneasiness. He wished to know the cause.
Liza confessed to him that her act seemed to her very
frivolous, that she repented of it, that this time she did not
wish to break her promised word, but that this meeting
would be the last, and she therefore entreated him to break
off an acquaintanceship which could not lead to any good.

All this, of course, was expressed in the language of a
peasant ; but such thoughts and sentiments, so unusual in a
simple girl of the lower class, struck Alexei with astonish-
ment. He employed all his eloquence to divert Akoulina
from her purpose ; he assured her that his intentions were
honourable, promised her that he would never give her cause
to repent, that he would obey her in everything, and
earnestly entreated her not to deprive him of the joy of
seeing her alone, if only once a day, or even only twice a
week. He spoke the language of true passion, and at that
moment he was really in love. Liza listened to him in
silence,

" Give me your word," said she at last, " that you will
never come to the village in search of me, and that you will
never seek a meeting with me except those that I shall
appoint myself."

Alexei swore by Holy Friday, but she stopped him with a
smile.

" I do not want you to swear^" said she j " your mer?
word is sufficient."

312 poushkin's prose tales.

After that they began to converse together in a friendly
manner, strolling about the wood, until Liza said to him ;

** It is time for me to return home."

They separated, and when Alexei was left alone, he could
not understand how, in two interviews, a simple peasant girl
had succeeded in acquiring such influence over him. His
relations with Akoulina had for him all the charm of
novelty, and although the injunctions of the strange young
girl appeared to him to be very severe, the thought of
breaking his word never once entered his mind. The fact
was that Alexei, in spite of his fatal ring, his mysterious
correspondence and his gloomy disenchantment, was a good
and impulsive young fellow, with a pure heart capable of
enjoying the pleasures of innocence.

Were I to listen to my own wishes only, I would here
enter into a minute description of the interviews of the
young people, of their growing passion for each other, their
confidences, occupations and conversations; but I know
that the greater part of my readers would not share my
satisfaction. Such details are usually considered tedious
and uninteresting, and therefore I will omit them, merely
observing, that before two months had elapsed, Alexei was
already hopelessly in love, and Liza equally so, though less
demonstrative in revealing the fact. Both were happy
in the present and troubled themselves little about the
future.

The thought of indissoluble ties frequently passed through
their minds, but never had they spoken to each other about
the matter. The reason was plain : Alexei, however much
attached he might be to his lovely Akoulina, could not
forget the distance that separated him from the poor peasant
girl ; while Liza, knowing the hatred that existed between
their parents, did not dare to hope for a mutual reconcilia-
tion. Moreover, her self-love was stimulated in secret by

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 313

tlie obscure and romantic hope of seeing at last the proprietor
of Tougilovo at the feet of the blacksmith's daughter of
Priloutchina. All at once an important event occurred
which threatened to interrupt their mutual relations.

One bright cold morning — such a morning as is very
common during our Russian autumn — Ivan Petrovitch
Berestoff went out for a ride on horseback, taking with him
three pairs of hunting dogs, a gamekeeper and several
stable-boys with clappers. At the same time, Gregory
Ivanovitch Mouromsky, seduced by the beautiful weather,
ordered his bob- tailed mare to be saddled, and started out
to visit his domains cultivated in the English style. On
approaching the wood, he perceived his neighbour, sitting
proudly on his horse, in his cloak lined with fox-skin, wait-
ing for a hare which his followers, with loud cries and the
rattling of their clappers, had started out of a thicket. If
Gregory Ivanovitch had foreseen this meeting, he would
certainly have proceeded in another direction, but he came
upon Berestoff so unexpectedly, that he suddenly found
himself no farther than the distance of a pistol-shot away
from him. There was no help for it : Mouromsky, like a
civilized European, rode forward towards his adversary and
politely saluted him. Berestoff returned the salute with the
characteristic grace of a chained bear, who salutes the public
in obedience to the order of his master.

At that moment the hare darted out of the wood and
started off across the field. Berestoff and the gamekeeper
raised 4 loud shout, let the dogs loose, and then galloped
off in- pursuit. Mouromsky's horse, not being accustomed
to hunting, took fright and bolted. Mouromsky, who
prided himself on being a good horseman, gave it full rein,
and inwardly rejoiced at the incident which delivered him
from a disagreeable companion. But the horse, reaching a
ravine which it had not previously noticed, suddenly sprang

314 poushkin's prose tales.

to one side, and Mouromsky was thrown from the saddle.
Striking the frozen ground with considerable force, he lay
there cursing his bob-tailed mare, which, as if recovering
from its fright, had suddenly come to a standstill as soon as
it felt that it was without a rider.

Ivan Petrovitch hastened towards him and inquired if he
had injured himself. In the meantime the gamekeeper had
secured the guilty horse, which he now led forward by the
bridle. He helped Mouromsky into the saddle, and
Berestoff invited him to his hoiise. Mouromsky could not
refuse the invitation, for he felt indebted to him ; and so
Berestoff returned home, covered with glory for having
hunted down a hare and for bringing with him his adversary
wounded and almost a prisoner of war.

The two neighbours took breakfast together and con-
versed with each other in a very friendly manner. Mou-
romsky requested Berestoff to lend him a droshky^ for he
was obliged to confess that, owing to his bruises, he was not
in a condition to return home on horseback. Berestoff con-
ducted him to the steps, and Mouromsky did not take leave
of him until he had obtained a promise from him that he
would come the next day in company with Alexei Ivanovitch,
and dine in a friendly way at Priloutchina. In this way was
a deeply-rooted enmity of long standing apparently brought
to an end by the skittishness of a bob-tailed mare.

Liza ran forward to meet Gregory Ivanovitch.

"What does this mean, papa?" said she with astonish-
ment. " Why are you walking lame ? Where is your horse ?
Whose is this droshky ? "

"You will never guess, my dear," replied Gregory
Ivanovitch ; and then he related to her everything that had
happened.

Liza could not believe her ears. Without giving her time
tp collect herself, Gregory Ivanovitch then went on to in-

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 315

form her that the two Berestoffs — father and son — would
dine with them on the following day.

" What do you say ? " she exclaimed, turning pale. " The
Berestoffs, father and son, will dine with us to-morrow ! No,
papa, you can do as you please, but I shall not show
myself."

" Have you taken leave of your senses ? " replied her
father. " Since when have you been so bashful ? Or do you
cherish an hereditary hatred towards him like a heroine of
romance? Enough, do not act the fool."

"No, papa, not for anything in the world, not for any
treasure would I appear before the Berestoffs."

Gregory Ivanovitch shrugged his shoulders, and did not
dispute with her any further, for he knew that by contradic-
tion he would obtain nothing from her. He therefore went
to rest himself after his remarkable ride.

Lizaveta Gregorievna repaired to her room and sum-
nnioned Nastia. They both conversed together for a long
time about the impending visit. What would Alexei think
if, in the well-bred young lady, he recognized his Akoulina ?
What opinion would he have of her conduct, of her manners,
of her good sense ? On the other hand, Liza wished very
much to see what impression would be produced upon him
by a meeting so unexpected. . . . Suddenly an idea flashed
through her mind. She communicated it to Nastia ; both
felt delighted with it, and they resolved to carry it into
effect.

The next day at breakfast, Gregory Ivanovitch asked his
daughter if she still intended to avoid the Berestoffs.

" Papa," replied Liza, " I will receive them if you wish it,
but on one condition, and that is, that however I may
appear before them, or whatever I may do, you will not be
angry with me, or show the least sign of astonishment qj
displeasure.'^

3l6 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

"Some new freak!" said Gregory Ivanovitch, laughing.
" Very well, very well, I agree ; do what you like, my dark-
eyed romp."

With these words he kissed her on the forehead, and
Liza ran off to put her plan into execution.

At two o'clock precisely, a Russian caliche, drawn by six
horses, entered the courtyard and rounded the lawn. The
elder Berestoff mounted the steps with the assistance of
two lackeys in the Mouromsky livery. His son came after
him on horseback, and both entered together into the
dining-room, where the table was already laid. Mouromsky
received his neighbours in the most gracious manner, pro-
posed to them to inspect his garden and park before dinner,
and conducted them along paths carefully kept and
gravelled. The elder Berestoff inwardly deplored the time
and labour wasted in such useless fancies, but he held his
tongue out of politeness. His son shared neither the dis-
approbation of the economical landowner, nor the en-
thusiasm of the vain-glorious Anglomaniac, but waited with
impatience for the appearance of his host's daughter, of
whom he had heard a great deal ; and although his heart,
as we know, was already engaged, youthful beauty always
had a claim upon his imagination.

Returning to the parlour, they all three sat down ; andj
while the old men recalled their young days, and related^
anecdotes of their respective careers, Alexei considered inj
his mind what role he should play in the presence of Liza.i
He came to the conclusion that an air of cold indifference
would be the most becoming under the circumstances, and.
he prepared to act accordingly. The door opened; he]
turned his head with such indifference, with such haughty]
carelessness, that the heart of the most inveterate coquette
would inevitably have shuddered. Unfortunately, instead
of Liza^ it was old Miss Jackson, who, painted and be-

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 317

decked, entered the room with downcast eyes and with a
low bow, so that Alexei's dignified military salute was lost
upon her. He had not succeeded in recovering from his
confusion, when the door opened again, and this time it
was Liza herself who entered.

All rose ; her father was just beginning to introduce his
guests, when suddenly he stopped short and bit his lips. . . .
Liza, his dark-complexioned Liza, was painted white up to
the ears, and was more bedizened than even Miss Jackson
herself; false curls, much lighter than her own hair, covered
her bead like the perruque of Louis the Fourteenth ; her
sleeves ci IHmbecile stood out like the hooped skirts of
Madame de Pompadour; her figure was pinched in like
the letter X, and all her mother's jewels, which had not
yet found their way to the pawnbroker's, shone upon her
fingers, her neck and in her ears.

Alexei could not possibly recognize his Akoulina in the
grotesque and brilliant young lady. His father kissed her
hand, and he f'ollowed his example, though much against
his will ; when he touched her little white fingers, it seemed
to him that they trembled. In the meantime he succeeded
in catching a glimpse of her little foot, intentionally ad-
vanced and set off to advantage by the- most coquettish shoe
imaginable. This reconciled him somewhat to the rest
of her toilette. As for the paint and powder, it must
be confessed that, in the simplicity of his heart, he had not
noticed them at the first glance, and afterwards had no sus
picion of them. Gregory Ivanovitch remembered his
promise, and endeavoured not to show any astonishment ;
but his daughter's freak seemed to him so amusing, that he
could scarcely contain himself. But the person who felt no
inclination to laugh was the affected English governess.
She had a shrewd suspicion that the paint and powder had
been extracted from her chest of drawers, and the deep

318 POUSHKIN^S PROSE TALES.

flush of anger was distinctly visible beneath the artificial
whiteness of her face. She darted angry glances at the
young madcap, who, reserving her explanations for another
time, pretended that she did not notice them.

They sat down to table. Alexei continued to play his
role of assumed indifference and absence of mind. Liza
put on an air of affectation, spoke through her teeth,
and only in French. Her father kept constantly looking at
her, not understanding her aim, but finding it all exceedingly
amusing. The English governess fumed with rage and
said not a word. Ivan Petrovitch alone seemed at
home : he ate like two, drank heavily, laughed at his
own jokes, and grew more talkative, and hilarious at every
moment.

At last they all rose up from the table; the guests
took their departure, and Gregory Ivanovitch gave free
vent to his laughter and to his interrogations. ^

" What put the idea into your head of acting the fool like
that with them ? " he said to Liza. " But do you know
what? The paint suits you admirably. I do not wish to
fathom the mysteries of a lady's toilette, but if I were
in your place, I would very soon begin to paint ; not
too much, of course, but just a little."

Liza was enchanted with the success of her stratagem,
She embraced her father, promised him that she would co
sider his advice, and then hastened to conciliate the indig-
nant Miss Jackson, who, with great reluctance consented t
open the door and listen to her explanations. Liza
ashamed to appear before strangers with her dark com-l

plexion ; she had not dared to ask she felt sure that

dear, good Miss Jackson would pardon her, etc., etc. Misi
Jackson, feeling convinced that Liza had not wished to makej
her a laughing-stock by imitating her, calmed down, kissed'
her, and as 4 token of recpociUation, raacje her «i present q:

I

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 319

a small pot of English paint, which Liza accepted with every
appearance of sincere gratitude.

The reader will readily imagine that Liza lost no time in
repairing to the rendezvous in the little wood the n^xt
morning.

" You were at our master's yesterday," she said at once to
Alexei : *' what do you think of our young mistress ? "

Alexei replied that he had not observed her.

" That's a pity ! " replied Liza.

" Why so ? " asked Alexei.

*' Because I wanted to ask you if it is true what they
say "

"What do they say?"

*' Is it true, as they say, that I am very much like her?"

" What nonsense ! She is a perfect monstrosity com-
pared with you."

^^Oh, sir, it is very wrong of you to speak like that. Our
young mistress is so fair and so stylish 1 How could I be
compared with her ! "

Alexei vowed to her that she was more beautiful than all
the fair young ladies in creation, and in order to pacify her
completely, he began to describe her mistress in such
comical terms, that Liza laughed heartily.

" But," said she with a sigh, " even though our young mis-
tress may be ridiculous, I am but a poor ignorant thing in
comparison with her."

" Oh ! " said Alexei ; " is that anything to break your heart
about ? If you wish it, I will soon teach you to read and
write."

'* Yes, indeed," said Liza, *' why should I not try ? "

'* Very well, my dear ; we will commence at once."

They sat down. Alexei drew from his pocket a pencil
and note-book, and Akoulina learnt the alphabet with
astonishing rapidity. Alexei could not sufficiently admire

320 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

her intelligence. The following morning she wished to try
to write. At first the pencil refused to obey her, but after a
few minutes she was able to trace the letters with tolerable
accuracy.

" It is really wonderful ! " said Alexei. ** Our method
certainly produces quicker results than the Lancaster
system." ^

And indeed, at the third lesson Akoulina began to spell
through " Nathalie the Boyard's Daughter," interrupting
her reading by observations which really filled Alexei with
astonishment, and she filled a whole sheet of paper with
aphorisms drawn from the same story.

A week went by, and a correspondence was established
between them. Their letter-box was the hollow of an old
oak-tree, and Nastia acted as their messenger. Thither
Alexei carried his letters written in a bold round hand, and
there he found on plain blue paper the delicately-traced
strokes of his beloved. Akoulina perceptibly began to
acquire an elegant style of expression, and her mental
faculties commenced to develop themselves with astonishing
rapidity.

Meanwhile, the recently-formed acquaintance between
Ivan Petrovitch Berestoff and Gregory Ivanovitch Mourom-
sky soon became transformed into a sincere friendship,
under the following circumstances. Mouromsky frequently
reflected that, on the death of Ivan Petrovitch, all his pos-
sessions would pass into the hands of Alexei Ivanovitch, in
which case the latter would be one of the wealthiest landed
proprietors in the government, and there would be nothing
to hinder him from marrying Liza. The elder Berestoff, on
his side, although recognizing in his neighbour a certain
extravagance (or, as he termed it, English folly), was per-

^ An allusion to the system of education introduced into England by
Joseph Lancaster at the commencement of the present century.

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 32 1

fectly ready to admit that he possessed many excellent
qualities, as for example, his rare tact. Gregory Ivanovitch
was closely related to Count Pronsky, a man of distinction
and of great influence. The Count could be of great
service to Alexei, and Mouromsky (so thought Ivan Petro-
vitch) would doubtless rejoice to see his daughter marry so
advantageously. By dint of constantly dwelling upon this
idea, the two old men came at last to communicate their
thoughts to one another. They embraced each other, both
promised to do their best to arrange the matter, and they
immediately set to work, each on his own side. Mouromsky
foresaw that he would have some difficulty in persuading his
Betsy to become more intimately acquainted with Alexei,
whom she had not seen since the memorable dinner. It
seemed to him that they had not been particularly well
pleased with each other ; at least Alexei had not paid any
further visits to Priloutchina, and Liza had retired to her
room every tira^ that Ivan Petrovitch had honoured them
with a visit. '^

" But," thought Gregory Ivanovitch, " if Alexei came to
see us every day, Betsy could not help falling in love with
him. That is the natural order of things. Time will settle
everything."

Ivan Petrovitch was no less uneasy about the success of
his designs. That same evening he summoned his son into
his cabinet, lit his pipe, and, after a long pause, said :

"Well, Alesha,^ what do you think about doing? You
have not said anything for a long time about the military
service. Or has the Hussar uniform lost its charm for
you?"

"No, father," replied Alexei respectfully; "but I see
that you do not like the idea of my entering the Hussars,
and it is my duty to obey you."

^ Diminutive of Alexei (Alexis).

322 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" Good," replied Ivan Petrovitch ; " I see that you are an
obedient son; that is very consoling to me. ... On my
side, I do not wish to compel you j I do not want to force
you to enter ... at once . . . into the civil service, but,
in the meanwhile, I intend you to get married."

*' To whom, father ? " asked Alexei in astonishment.

"To Lizaveta Gregorievna Mouromsky," replied Ivan
Petrovitch. "She is a charming bride, is she not?"

" Father, I have not thought of marriage yet."

" You have not thought of it, and therefore I have thought
of it for you."

" As you please, but I do not care for Liza Mouromsky
in the least."

" You will get to like her afterwards. Love comes with
time."

" I do not feel capable of making her happy."

"Do not distress yourself about making her happy.
What ? Is this how you respect your father's wish ? Very
well!"

" As you please. I do not wish to marry, and I will not
marry."

" You will marry, or I will curse you ; and as for my
possessions, as true as God is holy, I will sell them and
squander the money, and not leave you a farthing. I will
give you three days to think about the matter ; and in the
meantime, don't show yourself in my sight."

Alexei knew that when his father once took an idea into
his head, a nail even would not drive it out, as Taras
Skotinin^ says in the comedy. But Alexei took after his
father, and was just as head-strong as he was. He went to
his room and began to reflect upon the limits of paternal
authority; Then his thoughts reverted to Lizaveta Gregori-

* A character in *• Nedorosl," a comedy by Denis Von Vizin.

I

AN AMATEUR PEASANT GIRL. 323

evna, to his father's solemn vow to make him a beggar, and
last of all to Akoulina. For the first time he saw clearly
that he was passionately in love with her; the romantic
idea of marrying a peasant girl and of living by the labour
of their hands came into his'head, and the more he thought
of such a decisive step, the more reasonable did it seem to
him. For some time the interviews in the wood had ceased
on account of the rainy weather. He wrote to Akoulina
a letter in his most legible handwriting, informing her of the
misfortune that threatened them, and offering her his hand.
He took the letter at once to the post-office in the wood,
and then went to bed, well satisfied with himself.

The next day Alexei, still firm in his resolution, rode over
early in the morning to visit Mouromsky, in order to explain
matters frankly to him. He hoped to excite his generosity
and win him over to his side.

"Is Gregory Ivanovitch at home?" asked he, stopping
his horse in front of the steps of the Priloutchina mansion.

"No," repli^ the servant; '^Gregory Ivanovitch rode
out early this morning, and has not yet returned."

" How annoying ! " thought Alexei. ..." Is Lizaveta
Gregorievna at home, then ? " he asked.

"Yes, sir."

Alexei sprang from his horse, gave the reins to the lackey,
and entered without being announced.

" Everything is now going to be decided," thought he,
directing his steps towards the parlour: "I will explain
everything to Lizaveta herself."

He entered . . . and then stood still as if petrified !
Liza . . . no . . . Akoulina, dear, dark-haired Akoulina,
no longer in a sarafan^ but in a white morning robe, was
sitting in front of the window, reading his letter ; she was so
occupied that she had not heard him enter.

Alexei could not restrain an exclamation of joy. Liza

V

324 poushkin's prose tales.

started, raised her head, uttered a cry, and wished to fly
from the room. But he threw himself before her and held
her back.

" Akoulina ! Akoulina ! "

Liza endeavoured to liberate herself from his grasp.

^^ Mais laissez-moi done, Monsieur/ . . . Mais ttes-vous
fouV she said, twisting herself round.

** Akoulina! my dear Akoulina!" he repeated, kissing
her hand.

Miss Jackson, a witness of this scene, knew not what to
think of it. At that moment the door opened, and Gregory
Ivanovitch entered the room.

" Ah ! ah ! " said Mouromsky ; " but it seems that you
have already arranged matters between you."

The reader will spare me the unnecessary obligation of
describing the denouement

1

THE SHOT.

THE SHOT.

CHAPTER I.

WE were stationed in the little town of N . The
life of an officer in the army is well known. In the
morning, drill and the riding-school ; dinner with the Colonel
or at a Jewish restaurant ; in the evening, punch and cards.

In N there was not one open house, not a single

marriageable girl. We used to meet in each other's
rooms, where, except our uniforms, we never saw any-
thing.

One civilian only was admitted into our society. He was
about thirty-five years of age, and therefore we looked upon
him as an old fellow. His experience gave him great
advantage over us, and his habitual taciturnity, stern dis-
position and caustic tongue produced a deep impression
upon our young minds. Some mystery surrounded his
existence; he had the appearance of a Russian, although
his name was a foreign one. He had formerly served in
the Hussars, and with distinction. Nobody knew the cause
that had induced him to retire from the service and settle in
a wretched little village, where he lived poorly and, at the
same time, extravagantly. He always went on foot, and
constantly wore a shabby black overcoat, but the officers of
our regiment were ever welcome at his table. His dinners,
it is true, never consisted of more than two or three dishes,
prepared by a retired soldier, but the champagne flowed like

328 poushkin's prose tales.

water. Nobody knew what his circumstances were, or what
his income was, and nobody dared to question him about
them. He had a collection of books, consisting chiefly of
works on military matters and a few novels. He willingly
lent them to us to read, and never asked for them back ; on
the other hand, he never returned to the owner the books
that were lent to him. His principal amusement was shoot-
ing with a pistol. The walls of his room were riddled with
bullets, and were as full of holes as a honey-comb. A rich
collection of pistols was the only luxury in the humble
cottage where he lived. The skill which he had acquired
with his favourite weapon was simply incredible ; and if he
had offered to shoot a pear off somebody's forage-cap, not a
man in our regiment would have hesitated to place the
object upon his head.

Our conversation often turned upon duels. Silvio — so 1
will call him — never joined in it. When asked if he had
ever fought, he drily replied that he had ; but he entered
into no particulars, and it was evident that such questions
were not to his liking. We came to the conclusion that he
had upon his conscience the memory of some unhappy
victim of his terrible skill. Moreover, it never entered into
the head of any of us to suspect him of anything like
cowardice. There are persons whose mere look is sufficient
to repel such a suspicion. But an unexpected incident
occurred which astounded us all.

One day, about ten of our officers dined with Silvio.
They drank as usual, that is to say, a great deal. After
dinner we asked our host to hold the bank for a game at
faro. For a long time he refused, for he hardly ever played,
but at last he ordered cards to be brought, placed half a
hundred ducats upon the table, and sat down to deal. We
took our places round him, and the play began. It was
Silvio's custom to preserve a complete silence when playing.

THE SHOT. 329

He never disputed, and never entered into explanations. If
the punter made a mistake in calculating, he immediately
paid him the difference or noted down the surplus. We
were acquainted with this habit of his, and we always allowed
him to have his own way ; but among us on this occasion
was an officer who had only recently been transferred to our
regiment. During the course of the game, this officer
absently scored one point too many. Silvio took the
chalk and noted down the correct account according to
his usual custom. The officer, thinking that he had inade a
mistake, began to enter into explanations. Silvio continued
dealing in silence. The officer, losing patience, took the
brush and rubbed out what he considered was wrong. Silvio
took the chalk and corrected the score again. The officer,
heated with wine, play, and the laughter of his comrades,
considered himself grossly insulted, and in his rage he
seized a brass candlestick from the table, and hurled it at
Silvio, who barely succeeded in avoiding the missile. We
were filled With consternation. Silvio rose, white with rage,
and with gleaming eyes, said :

" My dear sir, have the goodness to withdraw, and thank
God that this has happened in my house."

None of us entertained the slightest doubt as to what the
result would be, and we already looked upon our new com-
rade as a dead man. The officer withdrew, saying that he
was ready to -answer for his offence in whatever way the
banker liked. The play went on for a few minutes longer,
but feeling that our host was no longer interested in the
game, we withdrew one after the other, and repaired to our
respective quarters, after having exchanged a few words
upon the probability of there soon being a vacancy in the
regiment.

The next day, at the riding-school, we were already asking
each other if the poor lieutenant was still alive, when he him-

330 poushkin's prose tales.

self appeared among us. We put the same question to him,
and he replied that he had not yet heard from Silvio. This
astonished us. We went to Silvio's house and found him in
the courtyard shooting bullet after bullet into an ace pasted
upon the gate. He received us as usual, but did not utter
a word about the event of the previous evening. Three
days passed, and the lieutenant was still alive. We asked
each other in astonishment : " Can it be possible that Silvio
is not going to fight ? "

Silvio did not fight. He was satisfied with a very lame
explanation, and became reconciled to his assailant.

This lowered him very much in the opinion of all our
young fellows. Want of courage is the last thing to be par-
doned by young men, wjio usually look upon bravery as the
chief of all human virtues, and the excuse for every possible
fault. But, by degrees, everything became forgotten, and
Silvio regained his former influence.

I alone could not approach him on the old footing. Being
endowed by nature with a romantic imagination, I had be-
come attached more than all the others to the man whose
life was an enigma, and who seemed to me tjie hero of some
mysterious drama. He was fond of me ; at least, with me
alone did he drop his customary sarcastic tone, and converse
on different subjects in a simple and unusually agreeable
manner. But after this unlucky evening, the thought that
his honour had been tarnished, and that the stain had been
allowed to remain upon it in accordance with his own wish,
was ever present in my mind, and prevented me treating
him as before. I was ashamed to look at him. Silvio was
too intelligent and experienced not to observe this and
guess the cause of it. This seemed to vex him ; at least I
observed once or twice a desire on his part to enter into an
explanation with me, but I avoided such opportunities, and
Silvio gave up the attempt. From that time forward I saw

THE SHOT. 331

him only in the presence of my comrades, and our con-
fidential conversations came to an end.

The inhabitants of the capital, with minds occupied by so
many matters of business and pleasure, have no idea of the
many sensations so familiar to the inhabitants of villages and
small towns, as, for instance, the awaiting the arrival of the
post. On Tuesdays and Fridays our regimental bureau
used to be filled with officers : some expecting money, some
letters, and others newspapers. The packets were usually
opened on the spot, items of news were communicated from
one to another, and the bureau used to present a very ani-
mated picture. Silvio used to have his letters addressed
to our regiment, and he was generally there to receive
them.

One day he received a letter, the seal of which he broke
with a look of great impatience. As he read the contents,
his eyes sparkled. The officers, each occupied with his own
letters, did not observe anything.

" Gentlemen," said Silvio, " circumstances demand my
immediate departure; I leave to-night. I hope that you
will not refuse to dine with me for the last time. I shall
expect you, too," he added, turning towards me. " I shall
expect you without fail."

With these words he hastily departed, and we, after
agreeing to meet at Silvio's, dispersed to our various
quarters.

I arrived at Silvio's house at the appointed time, and
found nearly the whole regiment there. All his things were al-
ready packed ; nothing remained but the bare, bullet-riddled
walls. We sat down to table. Our host was in an excellent
humour, and his gaiety was quickly communicated to the
rest. Corks popped every moment, glasses foamed inces-
santly, and, with the utmost warmth, we wished our depart-
ing friend a pleasant journey and every happiness. When we

332 poushkin's prose tales.

rose from the table it was already late in the evening
After having wished everybody good-bye, Silvio took me by
the hand and detained me just at the moment when I was
preparing to depart.

" I want to speak to you," he said in a low voice.
\ I stopped behind.

The guests had departed, and we two were left alone.
Sitting down opposite each other, we silently lit our pipes.
Silvio seemed greatly troubled ; not a trace remained of his
former convulsive gaiety. The intense pallor of his face, his
sparkling eyes, and the thick smoke issuing from his mouth,
gave him a truly diabolical appearance. Several minutes
elapsed, and then Silvio broke the silence.

" Perhaps we shall never see each other again," said he ;
** before we part, I should like to have an explanation with
you. You may have observed that I care very little for the
opinion of other people, but I like you, and I feel that
it would be painful to me to leave you with a wrong im-
pression upon your mind."

He paused, and began to knock the ashes out of his pipe.
I sat gazing silently at the ground.

" You thought it strange," he continued, " that I did not

demand satisfaction from that drunken idiot R . You

will admit, however, that having the choice of weapons, his
life was in my hands, while my own was in no great danger.
I could ascribe my forbearance to generosity alone, but
I will not tell a lie. If I could have chastised R with-
out the least risk to my own life, I should never have
pardoned him."

I looked at Silvio with astonishment. Such a confession
completely astounded me. Silvio continued :

*' Exactly so : I have no right to expose myself to death.
Six years ago I received a slap in the face, and my enemy
still lives."

THE SHOT. 333

My curiosity was greatly excited.

*' Did you not fight with him ? " I asked. " Circumstances
probably separated you."

" I did fight with him," replied Silvio : " and here is
a souvenir of our duel."

Silvio rose and took from a cardboard box a red cap with
a gold tassel and embroidery (what the French call a bonnet

de police) ; he put in on a bullet had passed through it

ubout an inch above the forehead.

**You know," continued Silvio, "that I served in one of
the Hussar regiments. My character is well-known to you :
I am accustomed to taking the lead. From my youth this
has been my passion. In our time dissoluteness was the
fashion, and I was the most outrageous man in the army.
We used to boast of our drunkenness : I beat in a drinking
beut the famous Bourtsoff,^ of whom Denis Davidoff^ has
sung. Duels in our regiment were constantly talcing place,
and in all of them I was either second or principal. My
comrades adof ed me, while the regimental commanders, who
were constantly being changed, looked upon me as a
necessary evil.

" I was calmly enjoying my reputation, when a young man
belonging to a wealthy and distinguished family — I will not
mention his name — ^joined our regiment. Never in my
life have I met with such a fortunate fellow ! Imagine to
yourself youth, wit, beauty, unbounded gaiety, the most
reckless bravery, a famous name, untold wealth — imagine all
these, and you can form some idea of the effect that he would
be sure to produce among us. My supremacy was shaken.
Dazzled by my reputation, he began to seek my friendship,
but I received him coldly, and without the least regret he
held aloof from me. I took a hatred to him. His success

^ A cavalry officer, notorious for his drunken escapades.

^ A military poet who flourished in the reign of Alexander L

334 poushkin's prose tales.

in the regiment and in the society of ladies brought me to
the verge of despair. I began to seek a quarrel with him ;
to my epigrams he replied with epigrams which always
seemed to me more spontaneous and more cutting than
mine, and which were decidedly more amusing, for he
joked while I fumed. At last, at a ball given by a Polish
landed proprietor, seeing him the object of the attention of
all the ladies, and especially of the mistress of the house,
with whom I was upon very good terms, I whispered some
grossly insulting remark in his ear. He flamed up and gave
me a slap in the face. We grasped our swords ; the ladies
fainted ; we were separated ; and that same night we set out
to fight.

"The dawn was just breaking. I was standing at the
appointed place with my three seconds. With inexplicable
impatience I awaited my opponent. The spring sun rose,
and it was already growing hot. I saw him coming in the
distance. He was walking on foot, accompanied by one
second. We advanced to meet him. He approached,
holding his cap filled with black cherries. The seconds
measured twelve paces for us. I had to fire first, but
my agitation was so great, that I could not depend upon the
steadiness of my hand ; and in order to give myself time to
become calm, I ceded to him the first shot. My adversary
would not agree to this. It was decided that we should cast
lots. The first number fell to him, the constant favourite of
fortune. He took aim, and his bullet went through my cap.
It was now my turn. His life at last was in my hands ; I
looked at him eagerly, endeavouring to detect if only the faint-
est shadow of uneasiness. But he stood in front of my pistol,
picking out the ripest cherries from his cap and spitting out
the stones, which flew almost as far as my feet. His
indifference annoyed me beyond measure. 'What is the
use,' thought I, ' of deprivmg him of life, when he attaches

THE SHOT. 335

no value whatever to it?' A malicious thought flashed
through my mind. I lowered my pistol.

" * You don't seem to be ready for death just at present,'
I said to him : * you wish to have your breakfast ; I do not
wish to hinder you.'

" ' You are not hindermg me in the least,' replied he.
* Have the goodness to fire, or just as you please — the shot
remains yours ; I shall always be ready at your service.'

" I turned to the seconds, informing them that I had no
intention of firing that day, and with that the duel came to
an end.

" I resigned my commission and retired to this little place.
Since then, not a day has passed that I have not thought of
revenge. And now my hour has arrived."

Silvio took from his pocket the letter that he had received
that morning, and gave it to me to read. Someone (it
seemed to be his business agent) wrote to him from Moscow,
that a certain person was going to be married to a young and
beautiful girl. .-

" You can guess," said Silvio, " who the certain person is
I am going to Moscow. We shall see if he will look death
in the face with as much indifference now, when he is
on the eve of being married, as he did once with his
cherries ! "

With these words, Silvio rose, threw his cap upon the floor,
and began pacing up and down the room like a tiger in his
cage. I had listened to him in silence j strange conflicting
feeUngs agitated me.

The servant entered and announced that the horses were
ready. Silvio grasped my hand tightly, and we embraced
each other. He seated himself in his telega, in which lay
two trunks, one containing his pistols, the other his effects.
We said good-bye once more, and the horses galloped oft.

336

CHAPTER II.

SEVERAL years passed, and family circumstances com-
pelled me to settle in the poor little village of M .

Occupied with agricultural pursuits, I ceased not to sigh in
secret for my former noisy and careless life. The most
difficult thing of all was having to accustom myself to pass-
ing the spring and winter evenings in perfect solitude. Until
the hour for dinner I managed to pass away the time some-
how or other, talking with the bailiff, riding about to inspect
the work, or going round to look at the new buildings ; but
as soon as it began to get dark, I positively did not know
what to do with myself. The few books that I had found
in the cupboards and store-rooms, I already knew by heart.
All the stories that my housekeeper Kirilovna could
remember, I had heard over and over again. The songs of
the peasant women made me feel depressed. I tried drink-
ing spirits, but it made my head ache ; and moreover, I con-
fess I was afraid of becoming a drunkard from mere chagrin,
that is to say, the saddest kind of drunkard, of which I had
seen many examples in our district.

I had no near neighbours, except two or three topers,
whose conversation consisted for the mosit part of hiccups
and sighs. Solitude was preferable to their society. At last
I decided to go to bed as early as possible, and to dine as
late as possible ; in this way I shortened the evening and
lengthened out the day, and I found that the plan answered
very well.

Four versts from my house was a rich estate belonging to

THE SHOT. 337

the Countess B ; but nobody lived there except the

steward. The Countess had only visited her estate once, in
the first year of her married life, and then she had remained
there no longer than a month. But in the second spring of
my hermitical life, a report was circulated that the Countess,
with her husband, was coming to spend the summer on her
estate. The report turned out to be true, for they arrived
at the beginning of June.

The arrival of a rich neighbour is an important event in
the lives of country people. The landed proprietors and
the people of their household talk about it for two months
beforehand, and for three years afterwards. As for me, I
must confess that the news of the arrival of a young and
beautiful neighbour affected me strongly. I burned with
impatience to see her, and the first Sunday after her arrival

I set out after dinner for the village of A , to pay my

respects to the Countess and her husband, as their nearest
neighbour and most humble servant.

A lackey conducted me into the Count's study, and then
went to announce me. The spacious apartment was
furnished with every ' possible luxury. Around the walls
were cases filled with books and surmounted by bronze
busts ; over the marble mantelpiece was a large mirror ; on
the floor was a green cloth covered with carpets. Unaccus-
tomed to luxury in my own poor corner, and not having seen
the wealth of other people for a long time, I awaited the
appearance of the Count with some little trepidation, as a
suppliant from the provinces awaits the arrival of the
minister. The door opened, and a handsome-looking man,
of about thirty-two years of age, entered the room. The
Count approached me with a frank and friendly air: I
endeavoured to be self-possessed and began to introduce
myself, but he anticipated me. We sat down. His conver-
sation, which was easy and agreeable, soon dissipated my

338 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

awkward bashfulness; and I was already beginning to
recover my usual composure, when the Countess suddenly
entered, and I became more confused than ever. She was
indeed beautiful. The Count presented me. I wished to
appear at ease, but the more I tried to assume an air of un-
constnaint, the more awkward I felt. They, in order to give
me time to recover myself and to become accustomed to my
new acquaintances, began to talk to each other, treating me
as a good neighbour, and without ceremony. Meanwhile, I
walked about the room, examining the books and pictures.
I am no judge of pictures, but one of them attracted my
attention. It represented some view in Switzerland, but it
was not the painting that struck me, but the circumstance
that the canvas was shot through by two bullets, one planted
just above the other.

" A good shot, that ! " said I, turning to the Count.

" Yes," replied he, " a very remarkable shot. ... Do
you shoot well ? " he continued.

"Tolerably," replied I, rejoicing that the conversation
had turned at last upon a subject that was familiar to me.
" At thirty paces I can manage to hit a card without fail, —
I mean, of course, with a pistol that I am used to."

" Really ? " said the Countess, with a look of the greatest
interest. " And you, my dear, could you hit a card at thirty
paces ? "

"Some day," replied the Count, "we will try. In my
time I did not shoot badly, but it is now four years since I
touched a pistol."

" Oh ! " I observed, " in that case, I don't mind laying a
wager that Your Excellency will not hit the card at twenty
paces : the pistol demands practice every day. I know that
from experience. In our regiment I was reckoned one of
the best shots. It once happened that I did not touch a
pistol for a whole month, a$ I had sent mine to be mended ^

THE SHOT. 339

and would you believe it, Your Excellency, the first time
I began to shoot again, I missed a bottle four times in
succession at twenty paces ! Our captain, a witty and
amusing fellow, happened to be standing by, and he said to
me : * It is evident, my friend, that your hand will not lift
itself against the bottle.' No, Your Excellency, you must
not neglect to practise, or your hand will soon lose its cun-
ning. The best shot that I ever met used to shoot at least
three times every day before dinner. It was as much his
custom to do this, as it was to drink his daily glass of
brandy."

The Count and Countess seemed pleased that I had
begun to talk.

** And what sort of a shot was he?" asked the Count.

** Well, it was this way with him. Your Excellency : if he
saw a fly settle on the wall — you smile, Countess, but, before
Heaven, it is the truth. If he saw a fly, he would call out :
* Kouzka, my pistol ! ' Kouzka would bring him a loaded
pistol — bangi and the fly would be crushed against the
wall."

"Wonderful!" said the Count. "And what was his
name ? "

*' Silvio, Your Excellency."

" Silvio ! " exclaimed the Count, starting up. " Did you
know Silvio ? "

" How could I help knowing him, Your Excellency : we
were intimate friends ; he was received in our regiment like
a brother officer, but it is now five years since I had any
tidings of him. Then Your Excellency also knew him ? "

" Oh, yes, I knew him very well. Did he ever tell you
of one very strange incident in his life ? "

" Does Your Excellency refer to the slap in the face that
he received from some blackguard at a ball ? "

" Did he tell you the name of this blackguard ?"

340 poushkin's prose tales.

'* No, Your Excellency, he never mentioned his name. . . .
Ah ! Your Excellency ! " I continued, guessing the truth :
" pardon me ... I did not know . . . could it really have
been you ? "

" Yes, I myself," replied the Count, with a look of ex-
traordinary agitation ; '* and that bullet-pierced picture is a
memento of our last meeting."

" Ah, my dear," said the Countess, " for Heaven's sake,
do not speak about that ; it would be too terrible for me to
listen to."

" No," replied the Count : " I will relate everything. He
knows how I- insulted his friend, and it is only right that he
should know how Silvio revenged himself."

The Count pushed a chair towards me, and with the
-^^veliest interest I listened to the following story :

"Five years ago I got married. The first month — the
honeymoon — I spent here, in this village. To this house I
am indebted for the happiest moments of my life, as well as
for one of its most painful recollections.

" One evening we went out together for a ride on horse-
back. My wife's horse became restive ; she grew frightened,
gave the reins to me, and returned home on foot. I rode
on before. In the courtyard I saw a travelling carriage,
and I was told that in my study sat waiting for me a man,
who would not give his name, but who merely said that he
had business with me. I entered the room and saw in the
darkness a man, covered with dust and wearing a beard of
several days' growth. He was standing there, near the
fireplace. I approached him, trying to remember his
features.

" ' You do not recognize me, Count ? ' said he, in a
quivering voice.

" * Silvio ! ' I cried, and I confess that I felt as if my hair
had suddenly stood on end.

THE SHOT, 341

" * Exactly/ continued he. ' There is a shot due to
me, and I have come to discharge my pistol. Are you
ready ? '

" His pistol protruded from a side pocket. I measured
twelve paces and took my stand there in that corner,
begging him to fire quickly, before my wife arrived. He
hesitated, and asked for a light. Candles were brought in.
I closed the doors, gave orders that nobody was to enter,
and again begged him to fire. He drew out his pistol and
took aim. ... I counted the seconds ... I thought of
her ... A terrible minute passed 1 Silvio lowered his
hand.

" ' I regret,' said he, * that the pistol is not loaded with
cherry-stones . . . the bullet is heavy. It seems to me
that this is not a duel, but a murder. I am not accustomed
to taking aim at unarmed men. Let us begin all over
again ; we will cast lots as to who shall fire first.'

" My head went round ... I think I raised some objec-
tion. ... At last we loaded another pistol, and rolled up
two pieces of paper. He placed these latter in his cap —
the same through which I had once sent a bullet — and
again I drew the first number.

" ' You are devilish lucky, Count,' said he, with a smile
that I shall never forget.

" I don't know what was the matter with me, or how it
was that he managed to make me do it . . . but I fired
and hit that picture."

The Count pointed with his finger to the perforated
picture ; his face glowed like fire j the Countess was whiter
than her own handkerchief; and I could not restrain an
exclamation.

" I fired," continued the Count, " and, thank Heaven,
missed my aim. Then Silvio ... at that moment he was
really terrible. . . . Silvio raised his hand to take aim at

342 poushkin's prose tales.

me. Suddenly the door opens, Masha rushes into the
room, and with a loud shriek throws herself upon my neck.
Her presence restored to me all my courage.

*"My dear,' said I to her, * don't you see that we are
joking ? How frightened you are ! Go and drink a glass of
water and then come back to us ; I will introduce you
to an old friend and comrade.'

'* Masha still doubted.

" * Tell me, is my husband speaking the truth ? * said she,
turning to the terrible Silvio ; * is it true that you are only
joking ? '

" * He is always joking, Countess,' replied Silvio : * once
he gave me a slap in the face in a joke ; on another occa-
sion he sent a bullet through my cap in a joke ; and just
now, when he fired at me and missed me, it was all in a
joke. And now I feel inclined for a joke.'

" With these words he raised his pistol to take aim
at me — right before her ! Masha threw herself at his
feet.

" * Rise, Masha ; are you not ashamed ! ' I cried in a
rage : * and you, sir, will you cease to make fun of a poor
woman ? Will you fire or not ? '

" * I will not,' replied Silvio : * I am satisfied. I have
seen your confusion, your alarm. I forced you to fire at
me. That is sufficient. You will remember me. I leave
you to your conscience,*

'* Then he turned to go, but pausing in the doorway, and
looking at the picture that my shot had passed through, he
fired at it almost without taking aim, and disappeared.
My wife had fainted away ; the servants did not venture to
stop him, the mere look of him filled them with terror. He
went out upon the steps, called his coachman, and drove
off before I could recover myself."

The Count was silent. In this way I learned the end of

THE SHOT. 343

the story, whose beginning had once made such a deep
impression upon me. The hero of it I never saw again. It
is said that Silvio commanded a detachment of Hetairists
during the revolt under Alexander Ipsilanti, and that he
was killed in the battle of Skoulana.

j^

THE SNOWSTORM,

THE SNOWSTORM.

TOWARDS the end of the year 1811, a memorable
period for us, the good Gavril Gavrilovitch R

was living on his domain of Nenaradova. He was cele-
brated throughout the district for his hospitality and kind-
heartedness. The neighbours were constantly visiting him :
some to eat and drink ; some to play at five copeck
" Boston " with his wife, Praskovia Petrovna ; and some to
look at their daughter, Maria Gavrilovna, a pale, slender girl
of seventeen. She was considered a wealthy match, and
many desired her for themselves or for their sons.

Maria Gavrilovna had been brought up on French novels,
and consequently was in love. The object of her choice
was a poor sub-lieutenant in the army, who was then on
leave of absence in his village. It need scarcely be men-
tioned that the young man returned her passion with equal
ardour, and that the parents of his beloved one, observing
their mutual inclination, forbade their daughter to think
of him, and received him worse than a discharged
assessor.

Our lovers corresponded with one another and daily saw
each other alone in the little pine wood or near the old
chapel. There they exchanged vows of eternal love,
lamented their cruel fate, and formed various plans. Corre-
sponding and conversing in this way, they arrived quite
naturally at the following conclusion :

If we cannot exist without each other, and the will of

348 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

hard-hearted parents stands in the way of our happiness,
why cannot we do without them ?

Needless to mention that this happy idea originated in
the mind of the young man, and that it was very congenial
to the romantic imagination of Maria Gavrilovna.

The winter came and put a stop to their meetings, but
their correspondence became all the more active. Vladimir
Nikolaievitch in every letter implored her to give herself up
to him, to get married secretly, to hide for some time, and
then throw themselves at the feet of their parents, who would,
without any doubt, be touched at last by the heroic con-
stancy and unhappiness of the lovers, and would infallibly
say to them : " Children, come to our arms ! "

Maria Gavrilovna hesitated for a long time, and several
plans for a flight were rejected. At last she consented : on
the appointed day she was not to take supper, but was to
retire to her room under the pretext of a headache. Her
maid was in the plot ; they were both to go into the garden
by the back stairs, and behind the garden they would find
ready a sledge, into which they were to get, and then drive
straight to the church of Jadrino, a village about five versts
from Nenaradova, where Vladimir would be waiting for
them.

On the eve of the decisive day, Maria Gavrilovna did not
sleep the whole night ; she packed and tied up her linen and
other articles of apparel, wrote a long letter to a sentimental
young lady, a friend of hers, and another to her parents.
She took leave of them in the most touching terms, urged
the invincible strength of passion as an excuse for the step
she was taking, and wound up with the assurance that she
should consider it the happiest moment of her life, when
she should be allowed to throw herself at the feet Oi her
dear parents.

After having sealed both letters with a Toula seal, upon

THE SNOWSTORM. 349

which were engraved two flaming hearts with a suitable
inscription, she threw herself upon her bed just before
daybreak, and dozed off: but even then she was constantly
! being awakened by terrible dreams. First it seemed to her
j that at the very moment when she seated herself in the
j sledge, in order to go and get married, her father stopped
her, dragged her over the snow with fearful rapidity, and
threw her into a dark bottomless abyss, down which she fell
headlong with an indescribable sinking of the heart. Then
she saw Vladimir lying on the grass, pale and bloodstained.
With his dying breath he implored her in a piercing voice
to make haste and marry him. . . . Other fantastic and
senseless visions floated before her one after another. At
last she arose, paler than usual, and with an unfeigned
headache. Her father and mother observed her uneasi-
ness ; their tender solicitude and incessant inquiries :
**What is the matter with you, Masha? Are you ill,
Masha ? " cut her to the heart. She tried to reassure them
and to appear cheerful, but in vain.

The evening came. The thought, that this was the last
day she would pass in the bosom of her family, weighed
upon her heart. She was more dead than alive. In secret
she took leave of everybody, of all the objects that sur-
rounded her.

Supper was served; her heart began to beat violently.
In a trembling voice she declared that she did not want any
supper, and then took leave of her father and mother. They
kissed her and blessed her as usual, and she could hardly
restrain herself from weeping.

On reaching her own room, she threw herself into a chair
and burst into tears. Her maid urged her to be calm and
to take courage. Everything was ready. In half an hour
Masha would leave for ever her parents' house, her room,
and her peaceful girlish life. . . ,

35C poushkin's prose tales.

Out in the courtyard the snow was falling heavily; the
wind howled, the shutters shook and rattled, and everything
seemed to her to portend misfortune.

Soon all was quiet in the house : everyone was asleep.
Masha wrapped herself in a shawl, put on a warm cloak,
took her small box in her hand, and went down the back
staircase. Her maid followed her with two bundles. The}
descended into the garden. The snowstorm had not sub-
sided ; the wind blew in their faces, as if trying to stop the
young criminal. With difficulty they reached the end of
the garden. In the road a sledge awaited them. The
horses, half-frozen with the cold, would not keep still;
Vladimir's coachman was walking up and down in front
of them, trying to restrain their impatience. He helped the
young lady and her maid into the sledge, placed the box
and the bundles in the vehicle, seized the reins, and the
horses dashed off.

Having intrusted the young lady to the care of fate and
to the skill of Tereshka the coachman, we will return to our
young lover.

Vladimir had spent the whole of the day in driving about.
In the morning he paid a visit to the priest of Jadrino, and
having come to an agreement with him after a great deal of
difficulty, he then set out to seek for witnesses among the
neighbouring landowners. The first to vfhom he presented
himself, a retired cornet of about forty years of age, and
whose name was Dravin, consented with pleasure. The
adventure, he declared, reminded him of his young days
and his pranks in the Hussars. He persuaded Vladimir to
stay to dinner with him, and assured him that he would
have no difficulty in finding the other two witnesses. And,
indeed, immediately after dinner, appeared the surveyor
Schmidt, with moustache and spurs, and the son of the
captain of police, a lad of sixteen years of age, who had

THE SNOWSTORM. 351

recently entered the Uhlans. They not only accepted
Vladimir's proposal, but even vowed that they were ready
to sacrifice their lives for him. Vladimir embraced them
with rapture, and returned home to get everything ready.

It had been dark for some time. He dispatched his faithful
Tereshka to Nenaradova with his sledge and with detailed
instructions, and ordered for himself the small sledge with
one horse, and set out alone, without any coachman, for
Jadrino, where Maria Gavrilovna ought to arrive in about a
couple of hours. He knew the road well, and the journey
would only occupy about twenty minutes altogether.

But scarcely had Vladimir issued from the paddock into
the open field, when the wind rose and such a snowstorm
came on that he could see nothing. In one minute the
road was completely hidden ; all surrounding objects dis-
appeared in a thick yellow fog, through which fell the white
flakes of snow ; earth and sky became confounded. Vladimir
found himself in the middle of the field, and tried in vain to
find the road again. His horse went on at random, and at
every moment kept either stepping into a snowdrift or
stumbling into a hole, so that the sledge was constantly
being overturned. Vladimir endeavoured not to lose the
right direction. But it seemed to him that more than half
an hour had already passed, and he had not yet reached the
Jadrino wood. Another ten minutes elapsed — still no wood
was to be seen. Vladimir drove across a field intersected
by deep ditches. The snowstorm did not abate, the sky
did not become any clearer. The horse began to grow
tired, and the perspiration rolled from him in great drops, in
spite of the fact that he was constantly being half-buried in
the snow.

At last Vladimir perceived that he was going in the wrong
direction. He stopped, began to think, to recollect, and
compare, and he felt convinced that he ought to have turned

352 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

to the right. He turned to the right now. His horse could
scarcely move forward. He had now been on the road for
more than an hour. Jadrino could not be far off. But on and
on he went, and still no end to the field — nothing but snow-
drifts and ditches. The sledge was constantly being over-
turned, and as constantly being set right again. The
time was passing : Vladimir began to grow seriously un-
easy.

At last something dark appeared in the distance. Vladi-
mir directed his course towards it. On drawing near, he
perceived that it was a wood.

" Thank Heaven ! " he thought, " I am not far off now."

He drove along by the edge of the wood, hoping by-and-
by to fall upon the well-known road or to pass round the
wood : Jadrino was situated just behind it. He soon found
the road, and plunged into the darkness of the wood, now
denuded of leaves by the winter. The wind could not rage
here ; the road was smooth ; the horse recovered courage,
and Vladimir felt reassured.

But he drove on and on, and Jadrino was not to be seen ;
there was no end to the wood. Vladimir discovered with
horror that he had entered an unknown forest. Despair
took possession of him. He whipped the horse ; the poor
animal broke into a trot, but it soon slackened its pace, and
in about a quarter of an hour it was scarcely able to drag
one leg after the other, in spite of all the exertions of the
unfortunate Vladimir.

Gradually the trees began to get sparser, and Vladimir
emerged from the forest ; but Jadrino was not to be seen.
It must now have been about midnight. Tears gushed
from his eyes; he drove on at random. Meanwhile the
storm had subsided, the clouds dispersed, and before him
lay a level plain covered with a white undulating carpet.
The night was tolerably clear. He saw, not far off, a little

THE SNOWSTORM. 353

village, consisting of four or five houses. Vladimir drove
towards it. At the first cottage he jumped out of the sledge,
ran to the window and began to knock. After a few minutes,
the wooden shutter was raised, and an old man thrust out
his grey beard.

''What do you want?"

" Is jidrino far from here ? "

*' Is Jadrino far from here ? "

"Yes, yes! Is it far?"

" Not far ; about ten versts."

At this reply, Vladimir grasped his hair and stood motion-
less, like a man condemned to death.

"Where do you come from?" continued the old man.

Vladimir had not the courage to answer the question.

" Listen, old man," said he : " can you procure me horses
to take me to Jadrino ? "

" How should we have such things as horses ? " replied
the peasant.

"Can I obtain a guide? I will pay him whatever he
pleases."

"Wait," s^id the old man, closing the shutter; "I will
send my son out to you ; he will guide you."

Vladimir waited. But a minute had scarcely elapsed
when he began knocking again. The shutter was raised,
and the beard again appeared.

" What do you want ? "

" What about your son ? "

" He'll be out presently ; he is putting on his boots. Are
you cold? Come in and warm yourself."

" Thank you ; send your son out quickly."

The door creaked : a lad came out with a cudgel and
went on in front, at one time pointing out the road, at another
searching for it among the drifted snow.

"What is the time?" Vladimir asked him.

354 poushkin's prose tales.

"It will soon be daylight," replied the young peasant,
Vladimir spoke not another word.

The cocks were crowing, and it was already light when
they reached Jadrino. The church was closed. Vladimir
paid the guide and drove into the priest's courtyard. His
sledge was not there. What news awaited him !

But let us return to the worthy proprietors of Nenaradova,
and see what is happening there.

Nothing.

The old people awoke and went into the parlour, Gavril
Gavrilovitch in a night-cap and flannel doublet, Praskovia
Petrovna in a wadded dressing-gown. The tea-urn was
brought in, and Gavril Gavrilovitch sent a servant to ask
Maria Gavrilovna how she was and how she had passed the
night. The servant returned, saying that the young lady
had not slept very well, but that she felt better now, and
that she would come down presently into the parlour. And
indeed, the door opened and Maria Gavrilovna entered the
room and wished her father and mother good morning.

" How is your head, Masha ? " asked Gavril Gavrilovitch.

" Better, papa," replied Masha.

"Very likely you inhaled the fumes from the charcoal
yesterday," said Praskovia Petrovna.

*' Very likely, mamma," replied Masha.

The day passed happily enough, but in the night Masha
was taken ill. A doctor was sent for from the town. He
arrived in the evening and found the sick girl delirious. A
violent fever ensued, and for two weeks the poor patient
hovered on the brink of the grave.

Nobody in the house knew anything about her flight. The
letters, written by her the evening before, had been burnt ;
and her maid, dreading the wrath of her master, had not
whispered a word about it to anybody. The priest, the
retired cornet, the moustached surveyor, and the Httle

THE SNOWSTORM. 355

Uhlan were discreet, and not without reason. Tereshka,
the coachman, never uttered one word too much about it,
even when he was drunk. Thus the secret was kept by
more than half-a-dozen conspirators.

But Maria Gavrilovna herself divulged her secret during her
delirious ravings. But her words were so disconnected, that
her mother, who never left her bedside, could only under-
stand from them that her daughter was deeply in love with
Vladimir Nikolaievitch, and that probably love was the
cause of her illness. She consulted her husband and some
of her neighbours, and at last it was unanimously decided
that such was evidently Maria Gavrilovna's fate, that a
woman cannot ride away from the man who is destined to
be her husband, that poverty is not a crime, that one does
not marry wealth, but a man, etc., etc. Moral proverbs are
wonderfully useful in those cases where we can invent little
in our own justification.

In the meantime the young lady began to recover.
Vladimir had not been seen for a long time in the house of
Gavril Gavrilovitch. He was afraid of the usual reception.
It was resolved to send and announce to him an unexpected
piece of good news : the consent of Maria's parents to his
marriage with their daughter. But what was the astonish-
ment of the proprietor of Nenaradova, when, in reply to
their invitation, they received from him a half-insane letter.
He informed them that he would never set foot in theii
house again, and begged them to forget an unhappy creature
whose only hope was in death. A few days afterwards they
heard that Vladimir had joined the army again. This was
in the year 1812.

For a long time they did not dare to announce this to
Masha, who was now convalescent. She never mentioned
the name of Vladimir. Some months afterwards, finding
his name in the list of those who had distingui«hed them-

2A

356 poushkin's prose tales,

selves and been severely wounded at Borodino,^ she fainted
away, and it was feared that she would have another attack
of fever. But, Heaven be thanked ! the fainting fit had no
serious consequences.

Another misfortune fell upon her: Gavril Gavrilovitch
died, leaving her the heiress to all his property. But the
inheritance did not console her; she shared sincerely the
grief of poor Praskovia Petrovna, vowing that she would
never leave her. They both quitted Nenaradova, the scene
of so many sad recollections, and went to live on another
estate.

Suitors crowded round the young and wealthy heiress, but
she gave not the slightest hope to any of them. Her mother
sometimes exhorted her to make a choice; but Maria
Gavrilovna shook her head and became pensive. Vladimir
no longer existed : he had died in Moscow on the eve of the
entry of the French. His memory seemed to be held
sacred by Masha ; at least she treasured up everything that
could remind her of him : books that he had once read, his
drawings, his notes, and verses of poetry that he had copied
out for her. The neighbours, hearing of all this, were
astonished at her constancy, and awaited with curiosity the
hero who should at last triumph over the melancholy fidelity
of this virgin Artemisia.

Meanwhile the war had ended gloriously. Our regiments
returned from abroad, and the people went out to meet
them. The bands played the conquering songs : " Vive
Henri-Quatre," Tyrolese waltzes and airs from *' Joconde."
Officers, who had set out for the war almost mere lads,
returned grown men, with martial air, and their breasts
decorated with crosses. The soldiers chatted gaily among

' A village about fifty miles from Moscow, and the scene of a san-
guinary battle between the French and Russian forces during the
invasion of pfhssia by Napoleon I.

THE SNOWSTORM. 357

themselves, constantly mingling French and German words
in their speech. Time never to be forgotten ! Time of
glory and enthusiasm ! How throbbed the Russian heart at
the word " Fatherland ! " How sweet were the tears of
meeting ! With what unanimity did we unite feelings of
national pride with love for the Czar ! And for him— what
a moment !

The women, the Russian women, were then incomparable.
Their usual coldness disappeared. Their enthusiasm was
truly intoxicating, when welcoming the conquerors they
cried "Hurrah!"

*' And threw their caps high in the air ! " '

What officer of that time does not confess that to the
Russian women he was indebted for his best and most
precious reward ?

At this brilliant period Maria Gavrilovna was living with

her mother in the province of , and did not see how

both capitals celebrated the return of the troops. But in
the districts and villages the general enthusiasm was, if
possible, even still greater. The appearance of an officer in
those places was for him a veritable triumph, and the lover
in a plain coat felt very ill at ease in his vicinity.

We have already said that, in spite of her coldness, Maria
Gavrilovna was, as before, surrounded by suitors. But all
had to retire into the background when the wounded
Colonel Bourmin of the Hussars, with the Order of St. George
in his button-hole, and with an " interesting pallor," as the
young ladies of the neighbourhood observed, appeared at
the castle. He was about twenty-six years of age. He had
obtained leave of absence to visit his estate, which was con-
tiguous to that of Maria Gavrilovna. Maria bestowed
special attention upon him. In his presence her habitual

* Griboiedoif.

358 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

pensiveness disappeared. It cannot be said that she
coquetted with him, but a poet, observing her behaviour,
would have said :

** Se amor non h, che dunque ?"

Bourmin was indeed a very charming young man. He
possessed that spirit which is eminently pleasing to women :
a spirit of decorum and observation, without any preten-
sions, and yet not without a slight tendency towards careless
satire. His behaviour towards Maria Gavrilovna was
simple and frank, but whatever she said or did, his soul and
eyes followed her. He seemed to be of a quiet and modest
disposition, though report said that he had once been a
terrible rake; but this did not injure him in the opinion of
Maria Gavrilovna, who — like all young ladies in general —
excused with pleasure follies that gave indication of boldness
and ardour of temperament.

But more than everything else — more than his tenderness,
more than his agreeable conversation, more than his interest-
ing pallor^ more than his arm in a sling, — the silence of the
young Hussar excited her curiosity and imagination. She
could, not but confess that he pleased her very much ; pro-
bably he, too, with his perception and experience, had
already observed that she made a distinction between him
and others ; how was it then that she had not yet seen him
at her feet or heard his declaration? What restrained him?
Was it timidity, inseparable from true love, or pride, or the
coquetry of a crafty wooer? It was an enigma to her.
After long reflection, she came to the conclusion that
timidity alone was the cause of it, and she resolved to
encourage him by greater attention and, if circumstances
should render it necessary, even by an exhibition of tender-
ness. She prepared a most unexpected denouement, and
waited with impatience for the moment of the romantic

THE SNOWSTORM. 359

explanation. A secet, of whatever nature it may be, always
presses heavily upon the female heart. Her stratagem had
the desired success; at least Bourmin fell into such a
reverie, and his black eyes rested with such fire upon her,
that the decisive moment seemed close at hand. The
neighbours spoke about the marriage as if it were a matter
already decided upon, and good Praskovia Petrovna
rejoiced that her daughter had at last found a lover worthy
of her.

On one occasion the old lady was sitting alone in the
parlour, amusing herself with a pack of cards, when Bourmin
entered the room and immediately inquired for Maria
Gavrilovna.

*' She is in the garden," replied the old lady : " go out to
her, and I will wait here for you."

Bourmin went, and the old lady made the sign of the
cross and thought : " Perhaps the business will be settled
to-day ! "

Bourmin found Maria Gavrilovna near the pond, under a
willow-tree,^ with a book in her hands, and in a white dress :
a veritable heroine of romance. After the first few questions
and observations, Maria Gavrilovna purposely allowed the
conversation to drop, thereby increasing their mutual
embarrassment, from which there was no possible way of
escape except only by a sudden and decisive declaration.

And this is what happened : Bourmin, feeling the difficulty
of his position, declared that he had long sought for an
opportunity to open his heart to her, and requested a
moment's attention. Maria Gavrilovna closed her book
and cast down her eyes, as a sign of compliance with his
request.

" I love you," said Bourmin : '* I love you passionately.

Maria Gavrilovna blushed and lowered her head still

36o poushkin's prose tales.

more. " I have acted imprudently in accustoming myself
to the sweet pleasure of seeing and hearing you daily. . . ."
Maria Gavrilovna recalled to mind the first letter of St.
Preux.^ ''But it is now too late to resist my fate; the
remembrance of you, your dear incomparable image, will
henceforth be the torment and the consolation of my Hfe,
but there still remains a grave duty for me to perform — to
reveal to you a terrible secret which will place between us
an insurmountable barrier. . . ."

" That barrier has always existed," interrupted Maria
Gavrilovna hastily : " I could never be your wife."

" I know," replied he calmly : " I know that you once
loved, but death and three years of mourning. . . . Dear,
kind Maria Gavrilovna, do not try to deprive me of my last
consolation : the thought that you would have consented to
make me happy, if "

"Don't speak, for Heaven's sake, don't speak. You
torture me."

" Yes, I know, I feel that you would have been mine,
but — I am the most miserable creature under the sun — I am
already married ! "

Maria Gavrilovna looked at him in astonishment.

" I am already married," continued Bourmin : " I have
been married four years, and I do not know who is my wife,
or where she is, or whether I shall ever see her again ! "

" What do you say ? " exclaimed Maria Gavrilovna.
" How very strange ! Continue : I will relate to you after-
wards. . . . But continue, I beg of you."

"At the beginning of the year 1812," said Bourmin, "I
was hastening to Vilna, where my regiment was stationed.
Arriving late one evening at one of the post-stations,
I ordered the horses to be got ready as quickly as possible,

^ In "La Nouvelle Heloise," by Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

THE SNOWSTORM. 36 1

when suddenly a terrible snowstorm came on, and the post-
master and drivers advised me to wait till it had passed
over. I followed their advice, but an unaccountable un-
easiness took possession of me : it seemed as if someone
were pushing me forward. Meanwhile the snowstorm did
not subside ; I could endure it no longer, and again order-
ing out the horses, I started off in the midst of the storm.
The driver conceived the idea of following the course of the
river, which would shorten our journey by three versts.
The banks were covered with snow : the driver drove past
the place where we should have come out upon the road,
and so we found ourselves in an unknown part of the
country. . . . The storm did not cease ; I saw a light in the
distance, and I ordered the driver to proceed towards it.
We reached a village ; in the wooden church there was
a light. The church was open. Outside the railings stood
several sledges, and people were passing in and out through
the porch.

" * This way ! this way ! ' cried several voices.

" I ordered the driver to proceed.

*' ' In the name of Heaven, where have you been loiter-
ing ? ' said somebody to me. ' The bride has fainted away ;
the pope does not know what to do, and we were just getting
ready to go back. Get out as quickly as you can.'

" I got out of the sledge without saying a word, and went
into the church, which was feebly lit up by two or three
tapers. A young girl was sitting on a bench in a dark
corner of the church; another girl was rubbing her
temples.

" ' Thank God ! ' said the latter, ' you have come at last.
Vou have almost killed the young lady.'

" The old priest advanced towards me, and said :

" ' Do you wish me to begin ? '

'* * Begin, begin, father,' replied I, absently.

362 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" The young girl was raised up. She seemed to me not
at all bad-looking. . . . Impelled by an incomprehensible,
unpardonable levity, I placed myself by her side in front of
the pulpit ; the priest hurried on ; three men and a chamber-
maid supported the bride and only occupied themselves
with her. We were married.

" * Kiss each other ! ' said the witnesses to us.

** My wife turned her pale face towards me. I was about
to kiss her, when she exclaimed : * Oh ! it is not he ! it is not
he ! ' and fell senseless.

" The witnesses gazed at me in alarm. I turned round
and left the church without the least hindrance, flung myself
into the kibitka and cried : * Drive off!'

" My God ! " exclaimed Maria Gavrilovna. " And you do
not know what became of your poor wife ? "

" I do not know," replied Bourmin ; " neither do I know
the name of the village where I was married, nor the post-
station where I set out from. At that time I attached
so little importance to my wicked prank, that on leaving
the church, I fell asleep, and did not awake till the next
morning aftei leaching the third station. The servant, who
was then with me, died during the campaign, so that I have
no hope of ever discovering the woman upon whom I played
such a cruel joke, and who is now so cruelly avenged."

" My God ! my God ! " cried Maria Gavrilovna, seizing
him by the hand : *' then it was you ! And you do not
recognize me ? "

Bourmin turned pale — and threw himself at her feet.

THE POSTMASTER,

y

THE POSTMASTER.

WHO has not cursed postmasters, who has not quarrelled
with them ? Who, in a moment of anger, has not de-
manded from them the fatal book in order to record in it
unavailing complaints of their extortions, rudeness and
unpunctuality ? Who does not look upon them as monsters
of the human race, equal to the defunct attorneys, or, at
least, the brigands of Mourom ? Let us, however, be just ;
let us place ourselves in their position, and perhaps we shall
begin to judge them with more indulgence. What is a
postmaster? A veritable martyr of the fourteenth class,^ only
protected by his rank from blows, and that not always
(I appeal to the conscience of my readers). What is
the function of this dictator, as Prince Viazemsky jokingly
calls him ? Is he not an actual galley-slave ? He has
no rest either day or night. All the vexation accumulated
during the course of a wearisome journey the traveller vents
upon the postmaster. Should the weather prove intoler-
able, the road abominable, the driver obstinate, the horses
ungovernable — the postmaster is to blame. Entering into
his poor abode, the traveller looks upon him as an enemy,
and the postmaster is fortunate if he succeeds in soon
getting rid of his uninvited guest ; but if there should
happen to be no horses ! . . . Heavens ! what volleys of

^ The Chinnovniks, or official nobles of Russia, are divided into
fourteen classes, the fourteenth being the lowest. The members of this
latter class were formerly little removed from serfs.

366 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

abuse, what threats are showered upon his head ! In
rain and sleet he is compelled to go out into the court-
yard ; during times of storm and nipping frost, he is
glad to seek shelter in the vestibule, if only to enjoy a
minute's repose from the shouting and jostling of incensed
travellers.

A general arrives : the trembling postmaster gives him
the two last troikas^ including that intended for the courier.
The general drives off without uttering a word of thanks.
Five minutes afterwards — a bell ! . . . and a courier throws
down upon the table before him . his order for fresh
post-horses ! . . Let us bear all this well in mind, and,
instead of anger, our hearts will be filled with sincere com-
passion. A few words more. Inuring a period of twenty
years I have traversed Russia in every direction ; I know
nearly all the post roads, and I have made the acquaintance'
of several generations of drivers. There are very few post-
masters that I do not know personally, and few with whom
I have not had business relations. In the course of time I
hope to publish some curious observations that I have noted
down during my travels. For the present I will only say
that the body of postmasters is presented to the public in a
very false light. These much-calumniated officials are gener-
ally very peaceful persons, obliging by nature, disposed to
be sociable, modest in their pretensions and not too much
addicted to the love of money. From their conversation
(which travelling gentlemen very unreasonably despise)
much may be learnt that is both interesting and instructive.
For my own part, I confess that I prefer their talk
to that of some official of the sixth class travelling on
government business.

It may easily be supposed that I have friends among the
honourable body of postmasters. Indeed, the memory of
one of them is dear to me. Circumstances once brought

THE POSTMASTER. 367

US together, and it is of him that I now intend to tell
my amiable readers.

In the month of May of the year 1816, I happened to be

travelling through the Government of N , upon a road

now destroyed. I then held an inferior rank, and I travelled
by post stages, paying the fare for two horses. As a conse-
quence, the postmasters treated me with very little cere-
mony, and I often had to take by force what, in my opinion,
belonged to me by right. Being young and passionate, I
was indignant at the baseness and cowardice of the post-
master, when the latter harnessed to the caliche of some
official noble, the horses prepared for me. It was a long
time, too, before I could get accustomed to being served
out of my turn by a discriminating servant at the governor's
dinner. To-day the one and the other seem to me to be
in the natural order of things. Indeed, what would become
of us, if, instead of the generally observed rule : '* Let rank
honour rank," another were to be brought into use, as for
example : " Let mind honour mind ? " What disputes would
arise ! And with whom would the servants begin in serving
the dishes? But to return to my story.

The day was hot. About three versts from A , a

drizzling rain came on, and in a few minutes it began to
pour down in torrents and I was drenched to the skin. On
arriving at the station, my first care was to change my
clothes as quickly as possible, my second to ask for some tea.

** Hi ! Dounia ! " ^ cried the Postmaster : ** prepare the
tea-urn and go and get some cream."

At these words, a young girl of about fourteen years of
age appeared from behind the partition, and ran out into
the vestibule. Her beauty struck me.

** Is that your daughter ? " I inquired of the Postmaster.

* Diminutive of Avdotia.

368 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

" That is my daughter," he replied, with a look of gratified
pride ; ** and she is so sharp and sensible, just like her late
mother."

Then he began to register my travelling passport, and I
occupied myself with examining the pictures that adorned
his humble abode. They illustrated the story of the
Prodigal Son. In the first, a venerable old man, in a
night-cap and dressing-gown, is taking leave of the restless
youth, who is eagerly accepting his blessing and a bag of
money. In the next picture, the dissipated life of the
young man is depicted in vivid colours : he is represented
sitting at a table surrounded by false friends and shameless
women. Further on, the ruined youth, in rags and a three-
cornered hat, is tending swine and sharing with them their
food : on his face is expressed deep grief and repentance.
The last picture represented his return to his father : the
good old man, in the same night-cap and dressing-gown,
runs forward to meet him; the prodigal son falls on his
knees; in the distance the cook is killing the fatted calf,
and the elder brother is asking the servants the cause of all
the rejoicing. Under each picture I read some suitable
German verses. All this I have preserved in my memory
to the present day, as well as the little pots of balsams, the
bed with speckled curtains, and the other objects with
which I was then surrounded. I can see at the present
moment the host himself, a man of about fifty years of age,
fresh and strong, in his long green surtout with three medals
on faded ribbons.

I had scarcely settled my account with my old driver,
when Dounia returned with the tea-urn. The little coquette
saw at the second glance the impression she had produced
upon me ; she lowered her large blue eyes ; I began to talk
to her; she answered me without the least timidity, like a
girl who has seen the world. I offered her father a glass of

THE POSTMASTER. 369

punch, to Dounia herself I gave a cup of tea, and then the
three of us began to converse together, as if we were old
acquaintances.

The horses had long been ready, but I felt reluctant to
take leave of the Postmaster and his daughter. At last I
bade them good-bye, the father wished me a pleasant
journey, the daughter accompanied me to the telega. In
the vestibule I stopped and asked her permission to kiss
her; Dounia consented. ... I can reckon up a great
many kisses since that time, but not one which has left
behind such a long, such a pleasant recollection.

Several years passed, and circumstances led me to the
same road, and to the same places.

"But," thought I, ''perhaps the old Postmaster has been
changed, and Dounia may already be married."

The thought that one or the other of them might be dead
also flashed through my mind, and I approached the station

of A with a sad presentiment. The horses drew up

before the little post-house. On entering the room, I
immediately recognized the pictures illustrating the story of
the Prodigal Son. The table and the bed stood in the
same places as before, but the flowers were no longer on
the window-sills, and everything around indicated decay
and neglect. ^

The Postmaster was asleep under his sheep-skin pelisse ;
my arrival awoke him, and he rose up. . . . It was certainly
Simeon Virin, but how aged ! While he was preparing to
register my travelling passport, I gazed at his grey hairs,
the deep wrinkles upon his face, that had not been shaved
for a long time, his bent back, and I was astonished to see
how three or four years had been able to transform a strong
and active individual into a feeble old man.

"Do you recognize me?" I asked him: "we are old
acquaintances."

370 POUSHKIN S PROSE TALES.

** May be," replied he mournfully ; " this is a high road,
and many travellers have stopped here."

" Is your Dounia well?" I continued.

The old man frowned.

" God knows," he replied.

** Probably she is married ? " said I.

The old man pretended not to have heard my question,
and went on reading my passport in a low tone. I ceased
questioning him and ordered some tea. Curiosity began to
torment me, and I hoped that the punch would loosen the
tongue of my old acquaintance.

I was not mistaken; the old man did not refuse the
proffered glass. I observed that the rum dispelled his
mournfulness. At the second glass he began to talk; he
remembered me, or appeared as if he remembered me, and
I heard from him a story, which at the time, deeply in-
terested and affected me.

"So you knew my Dounia?" he began. "But who did
not know her? Ah, Dounia, Dounia! What a girl she
was ! Everybody who passed this way praised her ; nobody
had a word to say against her. The ladies used to give her
presents — now a handkerchief, now a pair of earrings. The
gentlemen used to stop intentionally, as if to dine or to take
supper, but in reality only to take a longer look at her.
However angry a gentleman might be, in her presence he
grew calm and spoke graciously to me. Would you believe
it, sir: couriers and Court messengers used to talk to her
for half-hours at a stretch. It was she who kept the house ;
she put everything in order, got everything ready, and
looked after everything. And I, like an old fool, could not
look at her enough, could not idolize her enough. Did I
not love my Dounia ? Did I not indulge my child ? Was
not her life a happy one ? But no, there is no escaping
misfortune : there is no evading what has been decreed."

THE POSTMASTER. 371

Then he began to tell me his sorrow in detail. Three
years before, one winter evening, when the Postmaster was
ruling a new book, and his daughter behind the partition
was sewing a dress, a troika drove up, and a traveller in a
Circassian cap and military cloak, and enveloped in a shawl,
entered the room and demanded horses. The horses were
all out. On being told this, the traveller raised his voice and
whip ; but Dounia, accustomed to such scenes, ran out from
behind the partition and graciously inquired of the traveller
whether he would not like something to eat and drink.

The appearance of Dounia produced the usual effect.
The traveller's anger subsided; he consented to wait for
horses, and ordered supper. Having taken off his wet
shaggy cap, and divested himself of his shawl and cloak,
the traveller was seen to be a tall, young Hussar with a
black moustache He made himself comfortable with the
Postmaster, and began to converse in a pleasant manner
with him and his daughter. Supper was served. Mean-
while the horses returned, and the Postmaster ordered
them, without being fed, to be harnessed immediately to
the traveller's kibitka. But on returning to the room, he
found the young man lying almost unconscious on the
bench ; he had come over faint, his head ached, it was
impossible for him to continue his journey. What was to
be done? The Postmaster gave up his own bed to him,
and it was decided that if the sick man did not get better,
they would send next day to C for the doctor.

The next day the Hussar was worse. His servant rode
to the town for the doctor. Dounia bound round his head
a handkerchief steeped in vinegar, and sat with her needle-
work beside his bed. In the presence of the Postmaster,
the sick man sighed and scarcely uttered a word ; but he
drank two cups of coffee, and, with a sigh, ordered dinner.
Dounia did not quit his side. He constantly asked for

2B

I

372 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

something to drink, and Dounia gave him a jug of lemonade
prepared by herself. The sick man moistened his lips, and
each time, on returning the jug, he feebly pressed Dounia's
hand in token of gratitude.

About dinner time the doctor arrived. He felt the sick
man's pulse, spoke to him in German, and declared in
Russian that he only needed rest, and that in about a couple
of days he would be able to set out on his journey. The
Hussar gave him twenty-five roubles for his visit, and
invited him to dinner; the doctor accepted the invitation.
They both ate with a good appetite, drank a bottle of wine,
and separated very well satisfied with each other.

Another day passed, and the Hussar felt quite himself
again. He was extraordinarily lively, joked unceasingly,
now with Dounia, now with the Postmaster, whistled tunes,
chatted with the travellers, copied their passports into the
post-book, and so won upon the worthy Postmaster, that
when the third day arrived, it was with regret that he parted
with his amiable guest

The day was Sunday; Dounia was preparing to go to
mass. The Hussar's kibitka stood ready. He took leave
of the Postmaster, after having generously recompensed
him for his board and lodging, bade farewell to Dounia,
and offered to drive her as far as the church, which was
situated at the end of the village. Dounia hesitated.

"What are you afraid of?" asked her father. *'His
Excellency is not a wolf : he won't eat you. Drive with him
as far as the church."

Dounia seated herself in the kibitka by the side of the
Hussar, the servant sprang upon the box, the driver whistled,
and the horses started off at a gallop.

The poor Postmaster could not understand how he could
have allowed his Dounia to drive off" with the Hussar, how
he could have been so blind, and what had become of his

THE POSTMASTER. 373

senses at that moment. A half-hour had not elapsed,
before his heart began to grieve, and anxiety and uneasiness
took possession of him to such a degree, that he could con-
tain himself no longer, and started off for mass himself.
On reaching the church, he saw that the people were
already beginning to disperse, but Dounia was neither in
the churchyard nor in the porch. He hastened into the
church : the priest was leaving the altar, the clerk was ex-
tinguishing the candles, two old women were still praying
in a corner, but Dounia was not in the church. The poor
father was scarcely able to summon up sufficient resolution
to ask the clerk if she had been to mass. The clerk replied
that she had not. The Postmaster returned home neither
alive nor dead. One hope alone remained to him :
Dounia, in the thoughtlessness of youth, might have taken
it into her head to go on as far as the next station, where
her godmother lived. In agonizing agitation he awaited the
return of the troika in which he had let her set out. The
driver did not return. At last, in the evening, he arrived
alone and intoxicated, with the terrible news that Dounia
had gone on with the Hussar at the other station.

The old man could not bear his misfortune : he imme-
diately took to that very same bed where, the evening
before, the young deceiver had lain. Taking all the
circumstances into account, the Postmaster now came to
the conclusion that the illness had been a mere pretence.
The poor man fell ill with a violent fever ; he was removed

to C , and in his place another person was appointed

for the time being. The same doctor, who had attended
the Hussar, attended him also. He assured the Postmaster
that the young man had been perfectly well, and that at the
time of his visit he had suspected him of some evil inten-
tion, but that he had kept silent through fear of his whip.
Whether the German spoke the truth or only wished to

374 poushkin's prose tales.

boast of his perspicacity, his communication afforded no
consolation to the poor invalid. Scarcely had the latter
recovered from his illness, when he asked the Postmaster of

C for two months' leave of absence, and without saying

a word to anybody of his intention, he set out on foot in
search of his daughter.

From the travelling passport he found out that Captain
Minsky was journeying from Smolensk to St. Petersburg.
The yemshik ^ who drove him, said that Dounia had wept
the whole of the way, although she seemed to go of her
own free will.

" Perhaps," thought the Postmaster, " I shall bring back
home my erring ewe-lamb."

With this thought he reached St. Petersburg, stopped at
the barracks of the Ismailovsky Regiment, in the quarters
of a retired non-commissioned officer, an old comrade of
his, and then began his search. He soon discovered that
Captain Minsky was in St. Petersburg, and was living at the
Demoutoff Hotel. The Postmaster resolved to call upon
him.

Early in the morning he went to Minsky's ante-chamber,
and requested that His Excellency might be informed that
an old soldier wished to see him. The military servant,
who was cleaning a boot on a boot-tree, informed him that
his master was still asleep, and that he never received any-
body before eleven o'clock. The Postmaster retired and
returned at the appointed time. Minsky himself came out
to him in his dressing-gown and red skull-cap.

** Well, my friend, what do you want ? " he asked.

The old man's heart began to boil, tears started to his
eyes, and he was only able to say in a trembling voice :

" Your Excellency 1 ... do me the divine favour ! . . •

* Driver.

THE POSTMASTER. 375

Minsky glanced quickly at him, grew confused, took
him by the hand, led him into his cabinet and locked the
door.

" Your Excellency ! " continued the old man : " what has
fallen from the load is lost ; give me back at least my poor
Dounia. You have made her your plaything; do not ruin
her entirely."

" What is done cannot be undone," said the young man,
in the utmost confusion ; " I am guilty before you, and am
ready to ask your pardon, but do not think that I could
forsake Dounia : she shall be happy, I give you my word of
honour. Why do you want her ? She loves me ; she has
become disused to her former existence. Neither you nor
she will forget what has happened."

Then, pushing something up the old man's sleeve, he
opened the door, and the Postmaster, without remembering
how, found himself in the street again.

For a long time he stood immovable; at last he ob-
served in the cuff of his sleeve a roll of papers ; he drew
them out and unrolled several fifty rouble notes. Tears
again filled his eyes, tears of indignation ! He crushed the
notes into a ball, flung them upon the ground, stamped
upon them with the heel of his boot, and then walked
away. . . . After having gone a few steps, he stopped,
reflected, and returned . . . but the notes were no longer
there. A well-dressed young man, observing him, ran
towards a droshky^ jumped in hurriedly, and cried to the
driver : " Go on ! "

The Postmaster did not pursue him. He resolved to re-
turn home to his station, but before doing so he wished to
see his poor Dounia once more. For that purpose, he
returned to Minsky's lodgings a couple of days afterwards,
but the military servant told him roughly that his master re-
C^ved nobody, pushed hjm out gf the Jinte-chambei

376 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

and slammed the door in his face. The Postmaster stood
waiting for a long time, then he walked away.

That same day, in the evening, he was walking along the
Liteinaia, having been to a service at the Church of the
Afflicted. Suddenly a stylish droshky flew past him,
and the Postmaster recognized Minsky. The droshky
stopped in front of a three-storeyed house, close to the
entrance, and the Hussar ran up the steps. A happy
thought flashed through the mind of the Postmaster.
He returned, and, approaching the coachman :

'* Whose horse is this, my friend? " asked he : " Doesn't
it belong to Minsky ? "

" Exactly so," replied the coachman : " what do you
want?"

"Well, your master ordered me to carry a letter to
his Dounia, and I have forgotten where his Dounia
lives."

*'She lives here, on the second floor. But you are
late with your letter, my friend; he is with her himself
just now."

^'That doesn't matter," replied the Postmaster, with
an inexplicable beating of the heart. "Thanks for your
information, but I shall know how to manage my business."
And with these words he ascended the staircase.

The door was locked; he rang. There was a painful
delay of several seconds. The key rattled, and the door was
opened.

" Does Avdotia Simeonovna live here ? " he asked.

" Yes," replied a young female servant : " what do you
want with her?"

The Postmaster, without replying, walked into the
room.

** You mustn't go in, you mustn't go in ! " the servant cried
put after him : " Avdotia Simeonovn^ h^s visitors."

THE POSTMASTER. 377

But the Postmaster, without heeding her, walked straight
on. The first two rooms were dark ; in the third there was
a light. He approached the open door and paused. In
the room, which was beautifully furnished, sat Minsky
in deep thought. Dounia, attired in the most elegant
fashion, was sitting upon the arm of his chair, like a
lady rider upon her English saddle. She was gazing
tenderly at Minsky, and winding his black curls round
her sparkling fingers. Poor Postmaster ! Never had his
daughter seemed to him so beautiful ; he admired her
against his will.

" Who is there ? " she asked, without raising her head.

He remained silent. Receiving no reply, Dounia raised
her head. . . . and with a cry she fell upon the carpet.
The alarmed Minsky hastened to pick her up, but suddenly
catching sight of the old Postmaster in the doorway, he left
Dounia and approached him, trembling with rage.

" What do you want ? " he said to him, clenching his teeth.
" Why do you steal after me everywhere, like a thief? Or
do you want to murder me ? Be off ! " and with a powerful
hand he seized the old man by the collar and pushed him
down the stairs.

The old man returned to his lodging. His friend advised
him to lodge a complaint, but the Postmaster reflected,
waved his hand, and resolved to abstain from taking any
further steps in the matter. Two days afterwards he left
St. Petersburg and returned to his station to resume his
duties.

" This is the third year," he concluded, " that I have
been living without Dounia, and I have not heard a word
about her. Whether she is alive or not — God only knows.
So many things happen. She is not the first, nor yet
the last, that a travelling scoundrel has seduced, kept
for a little while, and then forsaken. There are many such

3/8 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES. i

1
young fools in St. Petersburg, to-day in satin and velvet,

and to-morrow sweeping the streets along with the wretched

hangers-on of the dram-shops. Sometimes, when I think

that Dounia also may come to such an end, then, in spite of

myself, I sin and wish her in her grave. . . ."

Such was the story of my friend, the old Postmaster,

a story more than once interrupted by tears, which he

picturesquely wiped away with the skirt of his coat, like the

zealous Terentitch in Dmitrieff's beautiful ballad. These

tears were partly induced by the punch, of which he had

drunk five glasses during the course of his narrative, but for

all that, they produced a deep impression upon my heart.

After taking leave of him, it was a long time before I could

forget the old Postmaster, and for a long time I thought of

poor Dounia. . . .

Passing through the little town of a short time ago,

I remembered my friend. I heard that the station, over
which he ruled, had been abolished. To my question : " Is
the old Postmaster still alive ? " nobody could give me
a satisfactory reply. I resolved to pay a visit to the
well-known place, and having hired horses, I set out for the
village of N .

It was in the autumn. Grey clouds covered the sky;
a cold wind blew across the reaped fields, carrying along
with it the red and yellow leaves from the trees that it en-
countered. I arrived in the village at sunset, and stopped
at the httle post-house. In the vestibule (where Dounia had
once kissed me) a stout woman came out to meet me, and
in answer to my questions replied, that the old Postmaster
had been dead for about a year, that his house was
occupied by a brewer, and that she was the brewer's wife.
I began to regret my useless journey, and the seven roubles
that I had spent in vain.

THE POSTMASTER. 379

" Of what did he die ? " I asked the brewer's wife.

** Of drink, little father," replied she.

"And where is he buried? "

*' On the outskirts of the village, near his late wife."

" Could somebody take me to his grave?"

** To be sure ! Hi, Vanka,^ you have played with that cat
long enough. Take this gentleman to the cemetery, and
show him the Postmaster's grave."

At these words a ragged lad, with red hair, and a cast in
his eye, ran up to me and immediately began to lead
the way towards the burial-ground.

"Did you know the dead man?" I asked him on the
road.

*' Did I not know him ! He taught me how to cut blow-
pipes. When he came out of the dram-shop (God rest his
soul !) we used to run after him and call out : ' Grandfather !
grandfather ! some nuts ! ' and he used to throw nuts to us.
He always used to play with us."

" And do the travellers remember him ? "

" There are very few travellers now ; the assessor passes
this way sometimes, but he doesn't trouble himself about
dead people. Last summer a lady passed through here, and
she asked after the old Postmaster, and went to his grave."

" What sort of a lady ? " I asked with curiosity.

"A very beautiful lady," replied the lad. "She was in a
carriage with six horses, and had along with her three little
children, a nurse, and a little black dog ; and when they
told her that the old Postmaster was dead, she began to cry,
and said to the children : * Sit still, I will go to the cemetery.'
I offered to show her the way. But the lady said : * I know
the way.' And she gave me a five-copeck piece. . . . such
a kind lady!"

* One of the many diminutives of Ivan.

38o

poushkin's prose tales.

We reached the cemetery, a dreary place, not inclosed in
the least ; it was sown with wooden crosses, but there was
not a single tree to throw a shade over it. Never in my life
had I seen such a dismal cemetery.

"This is the old Postmaster's grave," said the lad to me,^
leaping upon a heap of sand, in which was planted a blacky
cross with a copper image.

** And did the lady come here ?" asked I.

" Yes," replied Vanka ; " I watched her from a distance
She lay down here, and remained lying down for a lon(
time. Then she went back to the village, sent for the pope
gave him some money and drove off, after giving me a five
copeck piece. . . . such an excellent lady ! "

And I, too, gave the lad a five-copeck piece, and
no longer regretted the journey nor the seven roubh
that I had spent on it.

THE COFFIN-MAKER.

i

THE COFFIN-MAKER.

THE last of the effects of the coffin-maker, Adrian
Prokhoroff, were placed upon the hearse, and a
couple of sorry-looking jades dragged themselves along for
the fourth time from Basmannaia to Nikitskaia, whither the
coffin-maker was removing with all his household. After
locking up the shop, he posted upon the door a placard
announcing that the house was to be let or sold, and then
made his way on foot to his new abode. On approaching
the little yellow house, which had so long captivated his
imagination, and which at last he had bought for a consider-
able sum, the old coffin-maker was astonished to find that
his heart did not rejoice. When he crossed the unfamiliar
threshold and found his new home in the greatest confusion,
he sighed for his old hovel, where for eighteen years the
strictest order had prevailed. He began to scold his two
daughters and the servant for their slowness, and then set to
work to help them himself. Order was soon established;
the ark with the sacred images, the cupboard with the
crockery, the table, the sofa, and the bed occupied the
corners reserved for them in the back room ; in the kitchen
and parlour were placed the articles comprising the stock-
in-trade of the master — coffins of all colours and of all sizes,
together with cupboards containing mourning hats, cloaks
and torches.

Over the door was placed a sign representing a fat Cupid
with an inverted torch in his hand and bearing this inscrip-

384 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

tion: ''Plain and coloured coffins sold and lined here;
coffins also let out on hire, and old ones repaired."

The girls retired to their bedroom ; Adrian made a tour
of inspection of his quarters, and then sat down by the
window and ordered the tea-urn to be prepared.

The enlightened reader knows that Shakespeare and
Walter Scott have both represented their grave-diggers as
merry and facetious individuals, in order that the contrast
might more forcibly strike our imagination. Out of respect
for the truth, we cannot follow their example, and we are
compelled to confess that the disposition of our coffin-
maker was in perfect harmony with his gloomy occupation.
Adrian Prokhoroff was usually gloomy and thoughtful. He
rarely opened his mouth, except to scold his daughters
when he found them standing idle and gazing out of the
window at the passers by, or to demand for his wares an ex-
orbitant price from those who had the misfortune — ^and
sometimes the good fortune — to need them. Hence it Wc s
that Adrian, sitting near the window and drinking his
seventh cup of tea, was immersed as usual in melancholy
reflections. He thought of the pouring rain which, just a
week before, had commenced to beat down during the
funeral of the retired brigadier. Many of the cloaks had
shrunk in consequence of the downpour, and many of the
hats had been put quite out of shape. He foresaw unavoid-
able expenses, for his old stock of funeral dresses was in a
pitiable condition. He hoped to compensate himself for
his losses by the burial of old Trukhina, the shopkeeper's
wife, who for more than a year had been upon the point
of death. But Trukhina lay dying at Rasgouliai, and
Prokhoroff was afraid that her heirs, in spite of their
promise, would not take the trouble to send so far for
him, but would make arrangements with the nearest under-
taker.

THE COFFIN-MAKER. 385

These reflections were suddenly interrupted by three
masonic knocks at the door.

" Who is there ? " asked the cofiin-maker.

The door opened, and a man, who at the first glance
could be recognized as a German artisan, entered the room,
and with a jovial air advanced towards the coffin-maker.

" Pardon me, respected neighbour,'' said he in that
Russian dialect which to this day we cannot hear without a
smile : ** pardon me for disturbing you. ... I wished to
make your acquaintance as soon as possible. I am a shoe-
maker, my name is Gottlieb Schultz, and I live across the
street, in that little house just facing your windows. To-
moirow I am going to celebrate my silver wedding, and I
have come to invite you and your daughters to dine with
us."

The invitation was cordially accepted. The coffin-maker
asked the shoemaker to seat himself and take a cup of tea,
and thanks to the open-hearted disposition of Gottlieb
Schultz, they were soon engaged in friendly conversation.

" How is business with you ? " asked Adrian.

" Just so so," replied Schultz ; " I cannot complain. My
wares are not like yours : the living can do without shoes,
but the dead cannot do without coffins."

" Very true," observed Adrian ; ** but if a living person
hasn't anything to buy shoes with, you cannot find fault with
him, he goes about barefooted ; but a dead beggar gets his
coffin for nothing."

In this manner the conversation was carried on between
them for some time ; at last the shoemaker rose and took
leave of the coffin-maker, renewing his invitation.

The next day, exactly at twelve o'clock, the coffin-maker
and his daughters issued from the doorway of their newly-
purchased residence, and directed their steps towards the
abode of their neighbour. I will not stop to describe the

386 poushkin's prose tales.

Russian caftan of Adrian Prokhoroff, nor the European
toilettes of Akoulina and Daria, deviating in this respect
from the usual custom of modern novelists. But I do not
think it superfluous to o'bserve that they both had on the
yellow cloaks and red shoes, which they were accustomed to
don on solemn occasions only.

The shoemaker's little dwelling was filled with guests,
consisting chiefly of German artisans with their wives and
foremen. Of the Russian officials there was present but
one, Yourko the Finn, a watchman, who, in spite of his
humble calling, was the special object of the host's atten-
tion. For twenty-five years he had faithfully discharged the
duties of postilion of Pogorelsky. The conflagration of
1812, which destroyed the ancient capital, destroyed also his
little yellow watch-house. But immediately after the expul-
sion of the enemy, a new one appeared in its place, painted
grey and with white Doric columns, and Yourko began again
to pace to and fro before it, with his axe and grey coat of
mail. He was known to the greater part of the Germans who
lived near the Nikitskaia Gate, and some of them had even
spent the night from Sunday to Monday beneath his roof.

Adrian immediately made himself acquainted with him,
as with a man whom, sooner or later, he might have need
of, and when the guests took their places at the table, they
sat down beside each other. Herr Schultz and his wife, and
their daughter Lotchen, a young girl of seventeen, did the
honours of the table and helped the cook to serve. The
beer flowed in streams ; Yourko ate like four, and Adrian in
no way yielded to him ; his daughters, however, stood upon
their dignity. The conversation, which was carried on in
German, gradually grew more and more boisterous. Sud-
denly the host requested a moment's attention, and uncork-
ing a sealed bottle, he said with a loud voice in Russian :

** To the health of my good Louise 1 ''

THE COFFIN-MAKER. 387

The champagne foamed. The host tenderly kissed the
fresh face of his partner, and the guests drank noisily to the
health of the good Louise.

" To the health of my amiable guests ! " exclaimed the
host, uncorking a second bottle; and the guests thanked
him by draining their glasses once more.

Then followed a succession of toasts. The health of each
individual guest was dnmk; they drank to the health of
Moscow and to quite a dozen little German towns; they
drank to the health of all corporations in general and of
each in particular ; th^y drank to the health of the masters
and foremen. Adrian drank with enthusiasm and became
so merry, that he proposed a facetious toast to himself.
Suddenly one of the guests, a fat baker, raised his glass and
exclaimed :

" To the health of those for whom we work, our cus-
tomers ! "

This proposal, like all the others, was joyously and unani-
mously received. The guests began to salute each other;
the tailor bowed to the shoemaker, the shoemaker to the
tailor, the baker to both, the whole company to the baker,
and so on. In the midst of these mutual congratulations,
Yourko exclaimed, turning to his neighbour :

" Come, little father ! Drink to the health of your corpses !"

Everybody laughed, but the coffin-maker considered him-
self insulted, and frowned. Nobody noticed it, the guests
continued to drink, and the bell had already rung for vespers
when they rose from the table.

The guests dispersed at a late hour, the greater part of
them in a very merry mood. The fat baker and the book-
binder, whose face seemed as if bound in red morocco,
linked their arms in those of Yourko and conducted him
back to his little watch-house, thus observing the proverb :
" One good turn deserves another."

388 poushkin's prose tales.

The coffin-maker returned home drunk and angry.

"Why is it," he exclaimed aloud, "why is it that my
trade is not as honest as any other? Is a coffin-maker
brother to the hangman ? Why did those heathens laugh ?
Is a coffin-maker a buffoon? I wanted to invite them to
my new dwelling and give them a feast, but now I'll do
nothing of the kind. Instead of inviting them, I will invite
those for whom I work : the orthodox dead."

"What is the matter, little father?" said the servant, who
was engaged at that moment in taking off his boots : " why
do you talk such nonsense? Make the sign of the cross!
Invite the dead to your new house ! What folly ! "

*' Yes, by the Lord ! I will invite them," continued Adrian,
" and that, too, for to-morrow ! ... Do me the favour, my
benefactors, to come and feast with me to-morrow evening ;
I will regale you with what God has sent me."

With these words the coffin-maker turned into bed and
soon began to snore.

It was still dark when Adrian was awakened out of his
sleep. Trukhina, the shopkeeper's wife, had died during
the course of that very night, and a special messenger was
sent off on horseback by her bailiff to carry the news to
Adrian. The coffin-maker gave him ten copecks to buy
brandy with, dressed himself as hastily as possible, took a
droshky and set out for Rasgouliai. Before the door of the
house in which the deceased lay, the police had already
taken their stand, and the trades-people were passing back-
wards and forwards, like ravens that smell a dead body.
The deceased lay upon a table, yellow as wax, but not yet
disfigured by decomposition. Around her stood her relatives,
neighbours and domestic servants. All the windows were
open ; tapers were burning ; and the priests were reading
the prayers for the dead. Adrian went up to the nephew of
Trukhina, a young shopman in a lashionable surtout, and

THE COFFIN-MAKER. 389

informed him that the coffin, wax candles, pall, and the
other funeral accessories would be immediately delivered
with all possible exactitude. The heir thanked him in an
absent-minded manner, saying that he would not bargain
about the price, but would rely upon him acting in every-
thing according to his conscience. The coffin-maker, in
accordance with his usual custom, vowed that he would not
charge him too much, exchanged significant glances with
the bailiff, and then departed to commence operations.

The whole day was spent in passing to and fro between
Rasgouliai and the Nikitskaia Gate. Towards evening every-
thing was finished, and he returned home on foot, after
having dismissed his driver. It was a moonlight night.
The coffin-maker reached the Nikitskaia Gate in safety.
Near the Church of the Ascension he was hailed by our
acquaintance Yourko, who, recognizing the coffin-maker,
wished him good-night. It was late. The coffin-maker
was just approaching his house, when suddenly he fancied
he saw some one approach his gate, open the wicket, and
disappear within.

"What does that mean?" thought Adrian. "Who can
be wanting me again ? Can it be a thief come to rob me ?
Or have my foolish girls got lovers coming after them ? It
means no good, I fear ! "

And the coffin-maker thought of calling his friend Yourko
to his assistance. But at that moment, another person
approached the wicket and was about to enter, but seeing
the master of the house hastening towards him, he stopped
and took off his three-cornered hat. His face seemed
familiar to Adrian, but in his hurry he had not been able to
examine it closely.

" You are favouring me with a visit," said Adrian, out of
breath. " Walk in, I beg of you."
;£ "Don't stand on ceremony, little father," replied the

390 poushkin's prose tales.

other, in a hollow voice ; " you go first, and show your
guests the way."

Adrian had no time to spend upon ceremony. The
wicket was open; he ascended the steps followed by the
other. Adrian thought he could hear people walking about
in his rooms.

" What the devil docs all this mean ! " he thought to him-
self, and he hastened to enter. But the sight that met his
eyes caused his legs to give way beneath him.

The room was full of corpses. The moon, shining through
the windows, lit up their yellow and blue faces, sunken
mouths, dim, half-closed eyes, and protruding noses.
Adrian, with horror, recognized in them people that he him
self had buried, and in the guest who entered with him, the'
brigadier who had been buried during the pouring rain.
They all, men and women, surrounded the coffin-maker,
with bowings and salutations, except one poor fellow lately
buried gratis, who, conscious and ashamed of his rags, did
not venture to approach, but meekly kept aloof in a corner.
All the others were decently dressed : the female corpses
in caps and ribbons, the officials in uniforms, but with
their beards unshaven, the tradesmen in their holiday
caftans.

" You see, Prokhoroff," said the brigadier in the name of
all the honourable company, " we have all risen in response
to your invitation. Only those have stopped at home who
were unable to come, who have crumbled to pieces and
have nothing left but fleshless bones. But even of these
there was one who hadn't the patience to remain behind
so much did he want to come and see you. ..."

At this moment a little skeleton pushed his way through
the crowd and approached Adrian. His fleshless face
smiled affably at the coffin-maker. Shreds of green and red
cloth and rotten linen hung on him here and there as on a

\

THE COFFIN-MAKER. 391

pole, and the bones of his feet rattled inside his big jack-
boots, like pestles in mortars.

" You do not recognize me, Prokhoroff," said the skeleton.
" Don't you remember the retired sergeant of the Guards,
Peter Petrovitch Kourilkin, the same to whom, in the year
1799, you sold your first coffin, and that, too, of deal instead
of oak?"

With these words the corpse stretched out his bony arms
towards him ; but Adrian, collecting all his strength,
shrieked and pushed him from him. Peter Petrovitch
staggered, fell, and crumbled all to pieces. Among the
corpses arose a murmur of indignation ; all stood up for the
honour of their companion, and they overwhelmed Adrian
with such threats and imprecations, that the poor host,
deafened by their shrieks and almost crushed to death, lost
his presence of mind, fell upon the bones of the retired
sergeant of the Guards, and swooned away.

For some time the sun had been shining upon the bed on
which lay the coffin-maker. At last he opened his eyes and
saw before him the servant attending to the tea-urn. With
horror, Adrian recalled all the incidents of the previous
day. Trukhina, the brigadier, and the sergeant, Kourilkin,
rose vaguely before his imagination. He waited in silence
for the servant to open the conversation and inform him of
the events of the night.

" How you have slept, Httle father Adrian Prokhoro-
vitch ! " said Aksinia, handing him his dressing-gown.
"Your neighbour, the tailor, has been here, and the watchman
also called to inform you that to-day is his name-day ; but
you were so sound asleep, that we did not wish to wake you."

" Did anyone come for me from the late Trukhina?"

'* The late ? Is she dead, then ? "

" What a fool you are ! Didn't you yourself help me
yesterday to prepare the things for her funeral ? "

392 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

** Have you taken leave of your senses, little father, or
have you not yet recovered from the effects of yesterday's
drinking-bout? What funeral was there yesterday? You
spent the whole day feasting at the German's, and then
came home drunk and threw yourself upon the bed, and
have slept till this hour, when the bells have already rung
for mass."

" Really ! " said the coffin-maker, greatly relieved.

" Yes, indeed," replied the servant.

" Well, since that is the case, make the tea as quickly as
possible and call my daughters.'*

KIRDJALI.

y

KIRDJALL

KIRDJALI was by birth a Bulgarian. Kirdjali, in the
Turkish language, signifies a knight-errant, a bold
fellow. His real name I do not know.

Kirdjali with his acts of brigandage brought terror upon
the whole of Moldavia. In order to give some idea of him,
I will relate one of his exploits. One night he and the
Arnout Mikhaelaki fell together upon a Bulgarian village.
They set it on fire at both ends, and began to go from hut
to hut. Kirdjali dispatched the inmates, and Mikhaelaki
carried off the booty. Both cried: "Kirdjali! Kirdjali!"
The whole village took to flight.

When Alejfander Ipsilanti^ proclaimed the revolt and
began to collect his army, Kirdjali brought to him some of
his old companions. The real object of the revolt was but
ill understood by them, but war presented an opportunity for
getting rich at the expense of the Turks, and perhaps of the
Moldavians, and that was object enough in their eyes.

Alexander Ipsilanti was personally brave, but he did not
possess the qualities necessary for the role which he had
assumed with such ardour and such a want of caution. He
did not know how to manage the people over whom he was
obliged to exercise control. They had neither respect for
him nor confidence in him. After the unfortunate battle, in
which perished the flower of Greek youth, lordaki Olimbioti

^ The chief of the Hetairists (Philike Hetairia), whose object was the
liberation of Greece from the Turkish yoke.

39^ POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

persuaded him to retire, and he himself took his place.
Ipsilanti escaped to the borders of Austria, and thence sent
his curses to the people whom he termed traitors, cowards
and scoundrels. These cowards and scoundrels for the most
part perished within the walls of the monastery of Seko, or
on the banks of the Pnith, desperately defending themselves
against an enemy ten times their number.

Kirdjali found himself in the detachment of George
Kantakuzin, of whom might be repeated the same that has
been said of Ipsilanti. On the eve of the battle near
Skoulana, Kantakuzin asked permission of the Russian
authorities to enter our lines. The detachment remained
without a leader, but Kirdjali, Saphianos, Kantagoni, and
others stood in no need whatever of a leader.

The battle near Skoulana does not seem to have been
described by anybody in all its affecting reality. Imagine
seven hundred men — Arnouts, Albanians, Greeks, Bul-
garians and rabble of every kind — with no idea of military
art, retreating in sight of fifteen thousand Turkish cavalry.
This detachment hugged the bank of the Pruth, and placed
in front of themselves two small cannons, found at Jassy, in
the courtyard of the Governor, and from which salutes used
to be fired on occasions of rejoicing. The Turks would
have been glad to make use of their cartridges, but they
dared not without the permission of the Russian authorities:
the shots would infallibly have flown over to our shore. The
commander of our lines (now deceased), although he had
served forty years in the army, had never in his life heard
the whistle of a bullet, but Heaven ordained that he should
hear it then. Several of them whizzed past his ears. The
old man became terribly angry, and abused the major of the
Okhotsky infantry regiment, who happened to be in advance
of the lines. The major, not knowing what to do, ran
towards the river, beyond which some of the mounted insur-

KIRDJALI. 397

gents were caracoling about, and threatened them with his
finger. The insurgents, seeing this, turned round and
galloped off, with the whole Turkish detachment after them.
The major, who had threatened them with his finger, was
called Khortcheffsky. I do not know what became of
him.

The next day, however, the Turks attacked the Hetairists.
Not daring to use bullets or cannon-balls, they resolved,
contrary to their usual custom, to employ cold steel. The
battle was a fiercely-contested one. Yataghans ^ were
freely used. On the side of the Turks were seen lances,
which had never been employed by them till then ; these
lances were Russian : Nekrassovists fought in their ranks.
The Hetairists, by permission of our Emperor, were allowed
to cross the Pruth and take refuge within our lines. They
began to cross over. Kantagoni and Saphianos remained
last upon the Turkish bank. Kirdjali, wounded the evening
before, was already lying within our lines. Saphianos was
killed. Kantagoni, a very stout man, was wounded in the
stomach by a lance. With one hand he raised his sword,
with the other he seized the hostile lance, thrust it further
into himself, and in that manner was able to reach his
murderer with his sword, when both fell together.

All was over. The Turks remained victorious. Mol-
davia was swept clear of insurrectionary bands. About six
hundred Arnouts were dispersed throughout Bessarabia;
and though not knowing how to support themselves, they
were yet grateful to Russia for her protection. They led an
idle life, but not a licentious one. They could always be
seen in the coffee-houses of half Turkish Bessarabia, with
long pipes in their mouths, sipping coffee grounds out of
small cups. Their figured jackets and red pointed slippers

* Long Turkish daggers.

398 poushkin's prose tales.

were already beginning to wear out, but their tufted skull-
caps were still worn on the side of the head, and yataghans
and pistols still protruded from under their broad sashes.
Nobody complained of them. It was impossible to
imagine that these poor, peaceably-disposed men were the
notorious insurgents of Moldavia, the companions of the
ferocious Kirdjali, and that he himself was among them.

The Pasha in command at Jassy became informed of
this, and in virtue of treaty stipulations, requested the
Russian authorities to deliver up the brigand.

The police instituted a search. They discovered that
Kirdjali was really in Kishineff. They captured him in the
house of a fugitive monk in the evening, when he was
having supper, sitting in the dark with seven companions.

Kirdjali was placed under arrest. He did not try to
conceal the truth ; he acknowledged that he was Kirdjali.

" But," he added, " since I crossed the Pruth, I have not
touched a hair of other people's property, nor imposed
upon even a gipsy. To the Turks, to the Moldavians and
to the Wallachians I am undoubtedly a brigand, but to the
Russians I am a guest. When Saphianos, having fired off
all his cartridges, came over into these lines, collecting
from the wounded, for the last discharge, buttons, nails,
watch-chains and the knobs of yataghans, I gave him twenty
beshliks, and was left without money. God knows that I,
Kirdjali, lived by alms. Why then do the Russians now
deliver me into the hands of my enemies ? "

After that, Kirdjali was silent, and tranquilly awaited the
decision that was to determine his fate. He did not wait
long. The authorities, not being bound to look upon
brigands from their romantic side, and being convinced of
the justice of the demand, ordered Kirdjali to be sent to
Jassy.

A man of heart and intellect, at that time a young and

KIRDJALI. 399

unknown official, but now occupying an important post,
vividly described to me his departure.

At the gate of the prison stood a karoutsa. . . . Perhaps
you do not know what a karoutsa is. It is a low, wicker
vehicle, to which, not very long since, used generally to be
yoked six or eight sorry jades. A Moldavian, with a
moustache and a sheepskin cap, sitting astride one of them,
incessantly shouted and cracked his whip, and his wretched
animals ran on at a fairly sharp trot. If one of them began
to slacken its pace, he unharnessed it with terrible oaths
and left it upon the road, little caring what might be its fate.
On the return journey he was sure to find it in the same
place, quietly grazing upon the green steppe. It not un-
frequently happened that a traveller, starting from one
station with eight horses, arrived at the next with a pair
only. It used to be so about fifteen years ago. Nowadays
in Russianized Bessarabia they have adopted Russian
harness and Russian telegas.

Such a karoutsa stood at the gate of the prison in the
year 1821, towards the end of the month of September.
Jewesses in loose sleeves and slippers down at heel, Arnouts
in their ragged and picturesque attire, well-proportioned
Moldavian women with black-eyed children in their arms,
surrounded the karoutsa. The men preserved silence, the
women were eagerly expecting something.

The gate opened, and several police officers stepped out
into the street ; behind them came two soldiers leading the
fettered Kirdjali.

He seemed about thirty years of age. The features of
his swarthy face were regular and harsh. He was tall,
broad-shouldered, and seemed endowed with unusual
physical strength. A variegated turban covered the side of
his head, and a broad sash encircled his slender waist. A
dolman of thick; darl?:-blue cloth, the broad folds of his

400 poushkin's prose tales.

shiit falling below the knee, and handsome slippers com-
posed the remainder of his costume. His look was proud
and calm. . . .

One of the officials, a red-faced old man in a threadbare
uniform, three buttons of which were dangling down, with
a pair of pewter spectacles pinching the purple knob that
served him for a nose, unrolled a paper and, in a snuffling
tone, began to read in the Moldavian tongue. From time
to time he glanced haughtily at the fettered Kirdjali, to
whom apparently the paper referred. Kirdjali listened to
him attentively. The official finished his reading, folded up
the paper and shouted sternly at the people, ordering them
to give way and the karoutsa to be driven up. Then
Kirdjali turned to him and said a few words to him in
Moldavian ; his voice trembled, his countenance changed,
he burst into tears and fell at the feet of the police official,
clanking his fetters. The police official, terrified, started
back ; the soldiers were about to raise Kirdjali, but he rose
up himself, gathered up his chains, stepped into the karoutsa
and cried : *' Drive on ! " A gendarme took a seat beside
him, the Moldavian cracked his whip, and the karoutsa
rolled away.

" What did Kirdjali say to you ? " asked the young official
of the police officer.

" He asked me," replied the police officer, smiling, '' to
look after his wife and child, who lived not far from Kilia,
in a Bulgarian village : he is afraid that they may suffer
through him. The mob is so stupid ! "

The young official's story affected me deeply. I was
sorry for poor Kirdjali. For a long time I knew nothing of
his fate. Some years later I met the young official. We
began to talk about the past.

" What about your friend Kirdjali ? " I asked. " Do you
know what became of him ? "

KIRDJALI. 401

** To be sure I do," replied he, and he related to me the
following.

Kirdjali, having been taken to Jassy, was brought before
the Pasha, who condemned him to be impaled. The
execution was deferred till some holiday. In the meantime
he was confined in jail.

The prisoner was guarded by seven Turks (commoa
people, and in their hearts as much brigands as Kirdjali
himself) ; they respected him and, like all Orientals, listened
with avidity to his strange stories.

Between the guards and the prisoner an intimate ac-
quaintance sprang up. One day Kirdjali said to them :
" Brothers ! my hour is near. Nobody can escape his fate.
I shall soon take leave of you. I should like to leave you
something in remembrance of me."

The Turks pricked up their ears.

"Brothers," continued Kirdjali, '* three years ago, when I
was engaged in plundering along with the late Mikhaelaki,
we buried on the steppes, not from Jassy, a kettle filled
with money, fvidently, neither I nor he will make use of
the hoard. Be it so ; take it for yourselves and divide it in
a friendly manner."

The Turks almost took leave of their senses. The ques-
tion was, how were they to find the blessed spot ? They
thought and thought and finally resolved that Kirdjali
himself should conduct them to the place.

Night came on. The Turks removed the irons from the
feet of the prisoner, tied his hands with a rope, and, leaving
the town, set out with him for the steppe.

Kirdjali led them, keeping on in one direction from one
mound to another. They walked on for a long time. At
last Kirdjali stopped near a broad stone, measured twelve
paces towards the south, stamped and said : *' Here."

The Turks began to make their arrangements. Four of

402 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

them took out their yataghans and commenced digging the
earth. Three remained on guard. Kirdjali sat down upon
the stone and watched them at their work.

'* Well, how much longer are you going to be ? " he
asked ; ** haven't you come to it? "

" Not yet," replied the Turks, and they worked away with
such ardour, that the perspiration rolled from them like hail

Kirdjali began to show signs of impatience.

" What people ! " he exclaimed : " they do not even knov
how to dig decently. I should have finished the whole
business in a couple of minutes. Children ! untie my hands
and give me a yataghan."

The Turks reflected and began to take counsel together.
"What harm would there be?" reasoned they. *'Let us
untie his hands and give him a yataghan. He is only one,
we are seven."

And the Turks untied his hands and gave him a yataghan.

At last Kirdjali was free and armed. What must he have
felt at that moment ! ... He began digging quickly, the
guard helping him. . . . Suddenly he plunged his yataghan
into one of them, and, leaving the blade in his breast, he
snatched from his belt a couple of pistols.

The remaining six, seeing Kirdjali armed with two
pistols, ran off.

Kirdjali is now carrying on the profession of brigand near
Jassy. Not long ago he wrote to the Governor, demanding
from him five thousand levs^ and threatening, in the event
of the money not being paid, to set fire to Jassy and to
reach the Governor himself. The five thousand levs were
handed over to him !

Such is Kirdjali !

^ A Uv is worth about ten -pence,

THE EGYPTIAN NIGHTS,

2D

THE EGYPTIAN NIGHTS.

CHAPTER I.

CHARSKY was one of the native-born inhabitants of
St. Petersburg. He was not yet thirty years of age ;
he was not married; the service did not oppress him too
heavily. His late uncle, having been a vice-governor in the
good old times, had left him a respectable estate. His life
was a very agreeable one, but he had the misfortune to
write and print verses. In the journals he was called
**poet," and in the ante-rooms "author."

In spite of the great privileges which verse-makers enjoy
(we must confess that, except the right of using the accusa-
tive instead of the genitive, and other so-called poetical
licenses of a similar kind, we fail to see what are the par-
ticular privileges of Russian poets), in spite of their every
possible privilege, these persons are compelled to endure a
great deal of unpleasantness. The bitterest misfortune of
all, the most intolerable for the poet, is the appellation with
which he is branded, and which will always cling to him.
The public look upon him as their own property ; in their
opinion, he was created for their especial benefit and
pleasure. Should he return from the country, the first
person who meets him accosts him with :

" Haven't you brought anything new for us ? "
Should the derangement of his affairs, or the illness of
some being dear to him, cause him to become lost in

406 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

thoughtful reflection, immediately a trite smile accompanies
the trite exclamation :

" No doubt he is composing something ! "

Should he happen to fall in love, his beauty purchases an
album at the English warehouse, and expects an elegy.

Should he call upon a man whom he hardly knows, to
talk about serious matters of business, the latter quickly
calls his son and compels him to read some of the verses of
so-and-so, and the lad regales the poet with some of his
lame productions. And these are but the flowers of the
calling ; what then must be the fruits ! Charsky acknow-
ledged that the compliments, the questions, the albums,
and the little boys bored him to such an extent, that he was
constantly compelled to restrain himself from committing
some act of rudeness.

Charsky used every possible endeavour to rid himself of
the intolerable appellation. He avoided the society of
his literary brethren, and preferred to them the men of the
world, even the most shallow-minded : but that did not
help him. His conversation was of the most commonplace
character, and never turned upon literature. In his dress
he always observed the very latest fashion, with the timidity
and superstition of a young Moscovite arriving in St. Peters-
burg for the first time in his life. In his study, furnished
like a lady's bedroom, nothing recalled the writer ; no books
littered the table ; the divan was not stained with ink ; there
was none of that disorder which denotes the presence of the
Muse and the absence of broom and brush. Charsky was
in despair if any of his worldly friends found him with a pen
in his hand. It is difficult to believe to what trifles a man,
otherwise endowed with talent and soul, can descend. At
one time he pretended to be a passionate lover of horses, at
another a desperate gambler, and at another a refined
gourmet, although he was never able to distinguish the

THE EGYPTIAN NIGHTS. 407

mountain breed from the Arab, could never remember the
trump cards, and in secret preferred a baked potato to all
the inventions of the French cuisine. He led a life of
unbounded pleasure, was seen at all the balls, gormandized
at all the diplomatic dinners, and appeared at all the soirees
as inevitably as the Rezan ices. For all that, he was a poet,
and his passion was invincible. When he found the " silly
fit" (thus he called the inspiration) coming upon him,
Charsky would shut himself up in his study, and write from
morning till late into the night. He confessed to his
genuine friends that only then did he know what real happi-
ness was. The rest of his time he strolled about, dissembled,
and was assailed at every step by the eternal question :

'* Haven't you written anything new ? "

One morning, Charsky felt that happy disposition of soul,
when the illusions are represented in their brightest colours,
when vivid, unexpected words present themselves for the
incarnation of one's visions, when verses flow easily from
the pen, and sonorous rhythms fly to meet harmonious
thoughts. Charsky was mentally plunged into a sweet
oblivion . . . and the world, and the trifles of the world,
and his own particular whims no longer existed for him.
He was writing verses.

Suddenly the door of his study creaked, and the unknown
head of a man appeared. Charsky gave a sudden start and
frowned.

"Who is there?" he asked with vexation, inwardly curs-
ing his servants, who were never in the ante-room when they
were wanted.

The unknown entered. He was of a tall, spare figure,
and appeared to be about thirty years of age. The features of
his swarthy face were very expressive : his pale, lofty fore-
head, shaded by dark locks of hair, his black, sparkling eyes,
aquiline nose, and thick beard surrounding his sunken,

408 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

tawny cheeks, indicated him to be a foreigner. He was at-
tired in a black dress-coat, already whitened at the seams,
and summer trousers (although the season was well into the
autumn) ; under his tattered black cravat, upon a yellowish
shirt-front, glittered a false diamond ; his shaggy hat seemed
to have seen rain and bad weather. Meeting such a man in
a wood, you would have taken him for a robber ; in society
— for a political conspirator ; in an ante-room — for a charla-
tan, a seller of elixirs and arsenic.

" What do you want ? " Charsky asked him in French.

"Signor," replied the foreigner in Italian, with several
profound bows : ^^ Lei vogiia perdonar mi, si . . ." (PWse
pardon me, if . .)

Charsky did not offer him a chair, and he rose himself:
the conversation was continued in Italian.

" I am a Neapolitan artist," said the unknown : " circum-
stances compelled me to leave my native land ; I have come
to Russia, trusting to my talent."

Charsky thought that the Italian was preparing t« give some
violoncello concerts and was disposing of his tickets from house
to house. He was just about to give him twenty-five roubles
in order to get rid of him as quickly as possible, but the un-
known added :

" I hope, signor, that you will give a friendly support
to your confrere, and introduce me into the houses to which
you have access."

It was impossible to offer a greater affront to Charsky's
vanity. He glanced haughtily at the individual who called
himself his confrere-

** Allow me to ask, what are you, and for whom do you take
me ? " he said, with difficulty restraining his indignation.

The Neapolitan observed his vexation.

** Signor," he repUed, stammering : " Ho creduto . . . ho
seniito . ^ . la vostra Eccelenza . , , mi ferdonera . . ." (I

THE EGYPTIAN NIGHTS. 409

believed ... I felt . . . Your Excellency . . . will par-
don me. . . .)

" What do you want ? " repeated Charsky drily.

" I have heard a great deal of your wonderful talent ;
I am sure that the gentlemen of this place esteem it an
honour to extend every possible protection to such an
excellent poet," replied the Italian : " and that is why
I have ventured to present myself to you. . . ."

" You are mistaken, signor," interrupted Charsky. " The
caUing of poet does not exist among us. Our poets do not
solicit the protection of gentlemen ; our poets are gentle-
men themselves, and if our Maecenases (devil take them !)
do not know that, so much the worse for them. Among us
there are no ragged abb^s, whom a musician would take out
of the streets to compose a libretto. Among us, poets
do not go on foot from house to house, begging for help.
Moreover, they must have been joking, when they told you
that I was a great poet. It is true that I once wrote some
wretched epigrams, but thank God, I haven't anything
in common with 7iiessieurs les poetes, and do not wish to
have."

The poor Italian became confused. He looked around
him. The pictures, marble statues, bronzes, and the costly
baubles on Gothic what-nots, struck him. He understood
that between the haughty dandy, standing before him in a
tufted brocaded cap, gold-embroidered nankeen dressing-
gown and Turkish sash, — and himself, a poor wandering
artist, in tattered cravat and shabby dress-coat — there was
nothing in common. He stammered out some unintelligible
excuses, bowed, and wished to retire. His pitiable appear-
ance touched Charsky, who, in spite of the defects in
his character, had a good and noble heart. He felt
ashamed of his irritated vanity.

** Where are you going ? " he said to the Italian. " Wait

410 poushkin's prose tales.

... I was compelled to decline an unmerited title and con-
fess to you that I was not a poet. Now let us speak about
your business. I am ready to serve you, if it be in my
power to do so. Are you a musician ? "

" No, Eccelenza," replied the Italian ; " I am a poor
improvisators "

*'An improvisatore ! " cried Charsky, feeling all the
cruelty of his reception. "Why didn't you say sooner
that you were an improvisatore ? "

And Charsky grasped his hand with a feeling of sincere '
regret.

His friendly manner encouraged the ItaHan. He spoke
haively of his plans. His exterior was not deceptive. He
was in need of money, and he hoped somehow in Russia to
improve his domestic circumstances. Charsky listened
to him with attention.

" I hope," said he to the poor artist, " that you will have
success; society here has never heard an improvisatore.
Curiosity will be awakened. It is true that the Italian lan-
guage is not in use among us ; you will not be understood,
but that will be no great misfortune ; the chief thing is that
you should be in the fashion."

" But if nobody among you understands Italian," said
the improvisatore, becoming thoughtful, " who will come to
hear me ? "

" Have no fear about that — they will come : some out of
curiosity, others to pass away the evening somehow or
other, others to show that they understand Italian. I repeat,
it is only necessary that you should be in the fashion, and
you will be in the fashion — I give you my hand upon it."

Charsky dismissed the improvisatore very cordially, after
having taken his address, and the same evening he set
to work to do what he could for him,

411

CHAPTER II.

THE next day, in the dark and dirty corridor of a
tavern, Charsky discovered the number 35. He
stopped at the door and knocked. It was opened by the
Italian of the day before.

" Victory ! " said Charsky to him : ** your affairs are in a

good way. The Princess N , offers you her salon ;

yesterday, at the rout, I succeeded in enlisting the half
of St. Petersburg ; get your tickets and announcements
printed. If I cannot guarantee a triumph for you, I'll
answer for it that you will at least be a gainer in
pocket. . . ."

*' And that is the chief thing," cried the Italian, manifest-
ing his delight in a series of gestures that were characteris-
tic of his southern origin. " I knew that you would help
me. Corpo di Baccol You are a poet like myself, and
there is no denying that poets are excellent fellows ! How
can I show my gratitude to you ? Stop. . . . Would you
like to hear an improvisation ? "

** An improvisation ! . . . Can you then do without
public, without music, and without sounds of applause ? "

" And where could I find a better public ? You are
a poet : you understand me better than they, and your
quiet approbation will be dearer to me than whole storms of
applause. ... Sit down somewhere and give me a theme."

"Here is your theme, then," said Charsky to him: ''the
poet himself should choose the subject of his songs ; the crowd
has not the right to direct his inspirations,^^

412 rOUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

The eyes of the Italian sparkled : he tried a few chords,
raised his head proudly, and passionate verses — the expres-
sion of instantaneous sentiment — fell in cadence from his
lips. . . .

The Italian ceased. . . . Charsky remained silent, filled
with delight and astonishment.

" Well ? " asked the improvisatore.

Charsky seized his hand and pressed it firmly.

" Well ? " asked the improvisatore.

" Wonderful ! " replied the poet. " The idea of another'
has scarcely reached your ears, and already it has become
your own, as if you had nursed, fondled and developed it
for a long time. And so for you there exists neither difficulty
nor discouragement, nor that uneasiness which precedes in-
spiration ? Wonderful, wonderful ! "

The improvisatore replied : ** Each talent is inexplicable.
How does the sculptor see, in a block of Carrara marble,
the hidden Jupiter, and how does he bring it to light with
hammer and chisel by chipping off its envelope ? Why does
the idea issue from the poet's head already equipped with
four rhymes, and arranged in measured and harmonious
feet? Nobody, except the improvisatore himself, can under-
stand that rapid impression, that narrow link between in-
spiration proper and a strange exterior will ; I myself would
try in vain to explain it. But ... I must think of my first
evening. What do you think ? What price could I charge
for the tickets, so that the public may not be too exacting,
and so that, at the same time, I may not be out of pocket
myself? They say that La Signora Catalani ^ took twenty-
five roubles. That is a good price. ..."

It was very disagreeable to Charsky to fall suddenly from

^ A celebrated Italian vocalist, whose singing created an unprecedented
sensation in the principal European capitals during the first quarter of
the present century.

THE EGYPTIAN NIGHTS. 413

the heights of poesy down to the bookkeeper's desk, but he
understood very well the necessities of this world, and he
assisted the Italian in his mercantile calculations. The im-
provisatore, during this part of the business, exhibited such
savage greed, such an artless love of gain, that he disgusted
Charsky, who hastened to take leave of him, so that he
might not lose altogether the feeling of ecstasy awakened
within him by the brilliant improvisation. The Italian,
absorbed in his calculations, did not observe this change,
and he conducted Charsky into the corridor and out to the
steps, with profound bows and assurances of eternal gratitude.

y

414

CHAPTER III.

THE salon of Princess N had been placed at the
disposal of the improvisatore ; a platform had been
erected, and the chairs were arranged in twelve rows. On
the appointed day, at seven o'clock in the evening, the room
was illuminated ; at the door, before a small table, to sell
and receive tickets, sat a long-nosed old woman, in a
grey cap with broken feathers, and with rings on all her
fingers. Near the steps stood gendarmes.

The public began to assemble. Charsky wa3 one of the
first to airive. He had contributed greatly to the success
of the representation, and wished to see the improvisatore,
in order to know if he was satisfied with everything. He
found the Italian in a side room, observing his watch with
impatience. The improvisatore was attired in a theatrical
costume. He was dressed in black from head to foot. The
lace collar of his shirt was thrown back ; his naked neck, by
its strange whiteness, offered a striking contrast to his thick
black beard ; his hair was brought forward, and over-
shadowed his forehead and eyebrows.

All this was not very gratifying to Charsky, who did not
care to see a poet in the dress of a wandering juggler. After
a short conversation, he returned to the salon, which was
becoming more and more crowded. Soon all the rows of
seats were occupied by brilliantly-dressed ladies : the gentle-
men stood crowded round the sides of the platform, along
the walls, and behind the chairs at the back ; the musicians,
with their music-stands, occupied two sides of the plat-

THE EGYPTIAN NIGHTS. 415

form. In the middle, upon a table, stood a porcelain
vase.

The audience was a large one. Everybody awaited the
commencement with impatience. At last, at half-past seven
o'clock, the musicians made a stir, prepared their bows, and
played the overture from " Tancredi." All took their places
and became silent. The last sounds of the overture ceased.
. . . The improvisatore, welcomed by the deafening applause
which rose from every side, advanced with profound bows
to the very edge of the platform.

Charsky waited with uneasiness to see what would be the
first impression produced, but he perceived that the costume,
which had seemed to him so unbecoming, did not produce the
same effect upon the audience ; even Charsky himself found
nothing ridiculous in the Italian, when he saw him upon the
platform, with his pale face brightly illuminated by a multi-
tude of lamps and candles. The applause subsided ; the
sound of voices ceased . . .

The Italian, expressing himself in bad French, requested
the gentlemen present to indicate some themes, by writing
them upon separate pieces of paper. At this unexpected
invitation, all looked at one another in silence, and nobody
made reply. The Italian, after waiting a little while, repeated
his request in a timid and humble voice. Charsky was
standing right under the platform ; a feeling of uneasiness
took possession of him; he had a presentiment that the
business would not be able to go on without him, and that
he would be compelled to write his theme. Indeed, several
ladies turned their faces towards him and began to pronounce
his name, at first in a low tone, then louder and louder.
Hearing his name, the improvisatore sought him with his
eyes, and perceiving him at his feet, he handed him a pencil
and a piece of paper with a friendly smile. To play a role
in this comedy seemed very disagreeable to Charsky, but

4l6 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

there was no help for it : he took the pencil and paper from
the hands of the Italian and wrote some words. The Italian,
taking the vase from the table, descended from the platform
and presented it to Charsky, who deposited within it his
theme. His example produced an effect : two journalists,
in their quality as literary men, considered it incumbent
upon them to write each his theme; the secretary of the
Neapolitan embassy, and a young man recently returned
from a journey to Florence, placed in the urn their folded
papers. At last, a very plain-looking girl, at the command
of her mother, with tears in her eyes, wrote a few lines in
Italian and, blushing to the ears, gave them to the improvi-
satore, the ladies in the meantime regarding her in silence,
with a scarcely perceptible smile. Returning to the platform,
the improvisatore placed the urn upon the table, and began
to take out the papers one after the other, reading each
aloud :

*''' La famiglia del Cenci. . . . L ultimo giorno di Pompeia
, . . Cleopatra eisuoi amanti. . . . La primavera veduta da
una prigione. . . , LI trionfo di Tasso^

*'What does the honourable company command?" asked
the Italian humbly. " Will it indicate itself one of the
subjects proposed, or let the matter be decided by lot ? "

" By lot ! " said a voice in the crowd. ..." By lot, by
lot ! " repeated the audience.

The improvisatore again descended from the platform,
holding the urn in his hands, and casting an imploring
glance along the first row of chairs, asked :

" Who will be kind enough to draw out the theme ? "

Not one of the brilliant ladies, who were sitting there,
stirred. The improvisatore, not accustomed to Northern in-
difference, seemed greatly disconcerted. , . . Suddenly he
perceived on one side of the room a small white-gloved
hand held up : he turned quickly and advanced towards a

THE EGYPTIAN NIGHTS. 41/

tall young beauty, seated at the end of the second row.
^e rose without the slightest confusion, and, with the
greatest simplicity in the world, plunged her aristocratic
hand into the urn and drew out a roll of paper.

" Will you please unfold it and read," said the improvisa-
tore to her.

The young lady unrolled the paper and read aloud :

" Cleopatra e i suoi amantt."

These words were uttered in a gentle voice, but such
a deep silence reigned in the room, that everybody heard
them. The improvisatore bowed profoundly to the young
lady, with an air of the deepest gratitude, and returned
to his platform.

" Gentlemen," said he, turning to the audience: " the lot
has indicated as the subject of improvisation : * Cleopatra
and her lovers.' I humbly request the person who has
chosen this theme, to explain to me his idea : what lovers is
it here a question of, perchh la grande regina haveva
moltoV

At these words, several gentlemen burst out laughing.
The improvisatore became somewhat confused.

" I should Hke to know," he continued, " to what histori-
cal feature does the person, who has chosen this theme,
allude ? . . . I should feel very grateful if he would kindly
explain."

Nobody hastened to reply. Several ladies directed their
glances towards the plain-looking girl who had written
a theme at the command of her mother. The poor girl ob-
served this hostile attention, and became so confused, that
the tears came into her eyes. . . . Charsky could not
endure this, and turning to the improvisatore, he said to him
in Italian :

"It was I who proposed the theme. I had in view a pas-
sage in Aurelius Victor, who speaks as if Cleopatra used to

41 8 poushkin's prose tales.

name death as the price of her love, and yet there
were found adorers whom such a condition neither
frightened nor repelled. It seems to me, however, that
the subject is somewhat difficult. . . . Could you not
choose another ? "

But the improvisatore already felt the approach of
the god. ... He gave a sign to the musicians to play.
His face became terribly pale; he trembled as if in a
fever ; his eyes sparkled with a strange fire ; he raised with
his hand his dark hair, wiped with his handkerchief his
lofty forehead, covered with beads of perspiration. . . .
then suddenly stepped forward and folded his arms across
his breast. . . . the musicians ceased. ... the improvi-
sation began :

'* The palace glitters ; the songs of the choir
Echo the sounds of the flute and lyre ;
With voice and glance the stately Queen
Gives animation to the festive scene,
And eyes are turned to her throne above.
And hearts beat wildly with ardent love.
But suddenly that brow so proud
Is shadowed with a gloomy cloud,
And slowly on her heaving breast,
Her pensive head sinks down to rest.
The music ceases, hushed is each breath,
Upon the feast falls the lull of death ; " ^

The story is incomplete in the originaL — Translator,

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO.

I

2K

PETER THE GREATS NEGRO.*

CHAPTER I.

AMONG the number of young men sent abroad by
Peter the Great for the acquisition of knowledge in-
dispensable to a country in a state of transition, was his
godson, the negro, Ibrahim. After being educated in the
Military School at Paris, which he left with the rank
of Captain of Artillery, he distinguished himself in the
Spanish War of Succession, but having been severely
wounded, he returned to Paris. The Emperor, in the
midst of his extensive labours, never ceased to inquire after
his favourite, and he always received flattering accounts of
his progress and conduct. Peter was exceedingly pleased
with him, and more than once requested him to return
to Russia, but Ibrahim was in no hurry. He excused him-
self under various pretexts : now it was his wound, now it
was a wish to complete his education, now a want of money ;
and Peter indulgently complied with his wishes, begged
him to take care of his health, thanked him for his zeal in
the pursuit of knowledge, and although extremely parsimo-
nious in his own expenses, he did not spare his exchequer
when his favourite was concerned, and the ducats were

'■ Although this story was unfortunately left unfinished, it has been
included in this collection, as, apart from its intrinsic merit, it throws
an interesting light upon the history of Poushkin's African ancestor.—
The real name of the hero was Hannibal.— Translator.

422 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

generally accompanied by fatherly advice and words of
admonition.

According to the testimony of all historical accounts,
nothing could be compared with the frivolity, folly and
luxury of the French of that period. The last years of the
reign of Louis the Fourteenth, remarkable for the strict
piety, gravity, and decorum of the court, had left no traces
behind. The Duke of Orleans, uniting many brilliant
qualities with vices of every kind, unfortunately did not
possess the slightest shadow of hypocrisy. The orgies
of the Palais Royal were no secret in Paris ; the example
was infectious. At that time Law^ appeared upon the
scene; greed for money was united to the thirst for
pleasure and dissipation ; estates were squandered, morals
perished. Frenchmen laughed and calculated, and the
kingdom fell to pieces to the music of satirical vaudevilles.

In the meantime society presented a most remarkable
picture. Culture and the desire for amusement brought all
ranks together. Wealth, amiability, renown, talent, even
eccentricity — everything that satisfied curiosity or promised
amusement, was received with the same indulgence.
Literature, learning and philosophy forsook their quiet
studies and appeared in the circles of the great world
to render homage to fashion and to obey its decrees.
Women reigned, but no longer demanded adoration.
Superficial politeness was substituted for the profound
respect formerly shown to them. The pranks of the Duke
de Richelieu, the Alcibiades of modern Athens, belong to
history, and give an idea of the morals of that period.

'* Temps fortune, marqu^ par la licence,
Oil la folic, agitant son grelot,
D'un pied leger parcourt toute la France,

* John Law, the famous projector of financial schemes,

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 4^3

Ou nul mortel ne daigne etre devot,
Ou Ton fait tout excepte penitence. "

The appearance of Ibrahim, his bearing, culture and
natural intelligence excited general attention in Paris. All
the ladies were anxious to see " le nbgre du Czar " at their
houses, and vied with each other in their attentions towards
him. The Regent invited him more than once to his merry
evening parties ; he assisted at the suppers animated by the
youth of Arouet,^ the old age of Chaulieu, and the conver-
sations of Montesquieu and Fontenelle. He did not miss a
single ball, fete or first representation, and he gave himself
up to the general whirl with all the ardour of his years and
nature. But the thought of exchanging these delights,
these brilliant amusements for the simpHcity of the Peters-
burg Court was not the only thing that dismayed Ibrahim ;
other and stronger ties bound him to Paris. The young
African was in love.

The Countess L , although no longer in the first

bloom of youth, was still renowned for her beauty. On
leaving the convent at the age of seventeen, she was married
to a man whom she had not succeeded in loving, and who
later on did not take the trouble to gain her love. Report
assigned several lovers to her, but thanks to the indulgent
views entertained by the world, she enjoyed a good reputa-
tion, for nobody was able to reproach her with any ridiculous
or scandalous adventure. Her house was one of the most
fashionable, and the best Parisian society made it their
rendezvous. Ibrahim was introduced to her by young
Merville, who was generally looked upon as her latest lover, —
and who did all in his power to obtain credit for the report.

The Countess received Ibrahim politely, but without any
particular attention : this made him feel flattered. Generally

1 Voltaire.

424 poushkin's prose tales.

the young negro was regarded in the light of a curiosity ;
people used to surround him and overwhelm him with com-
pliments and questions — and this curiosity, although con-
cealed by a show of graciousness, offended his vanity. The
delightful attention of women, almost the sole aim of our
exertions, not only afforded him no pleasure, but even filled
him with bitterness and indignation. He felt that he was
for them a kind of rare beast, a peculiar creature, acci-
dentally brought into the world, but having with it nothing
in common. He even envied people who remained
unnoticed, and considered them fortunate in their insigni-
ficance.

The thought, that nature had not created him for the
inspiring of a passion, emancipated him from self-assertion
and vain pretensions, and added a rare charm to his
behaviour towards women. His conversation was simple
and dignified ; he found great favour in the eyes of the

Countess L , who had grown tired of the pronounced

jests and pointed insinuations of French wit. Ibrahim
frequently visited her. Little by little she became accus-
tomed to the young negro's appearance, and even began to
find something agreeable in that curly head, that stood out
so black in the midst of the powdered perukes in her recep-
tion-room (Ibrahim had been wounded in the head, and
wore a bandage instead of a peruke). He was twenty-seven
years of age, and was tall and slender, and more than
one beauty glanced at him with a feeling more flattering
than simple curiosity. But the prejudiced Ibrahim either
did not observe anything of this or merely looked upon it as
coquetry. But when his glances met those of the Countess,
his distrust vanished. Her eyes expressed such winning
kindness, her manner towards him was so simple, so uncon-
strained, that it was impossible to suspect her of the least
shadow of coquetry or raillery.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 425

The thought of love had not entered his head, but to see
the Countess each day had become a necessity to him. He
tried to meet her everywhere, and every meeting with her
seemed an unexpected favour from heaven. The Countess
guessed his feelings before he himself did. There is no
denying that a love, which is without hope and which
demands nothing, touches the female heart more surely than
all the devices of the libertine. In the presence of Ibrahim,
the Countess followed all his movements, listened to every
word that he said ; without him she became thoughtful, and
fell into her usual absence of mind. Merville was the first
to observe this mutual inclination, and he congratulated
Ibrahim. Nothing inflames love so much as the approving
observations of a bystander : love is blind, and, having no
trust in itself, readily grasps hold of every support.

Merville's words roused Ibrahim. The possibility of
possessing the woman that he loved had never till then
occurred to his mind; hope suddenly dawned upon his
soul; he fell madly in love. In vain did the Countess,
alarmed by the ardour of his passion, wish to combat his
vehemence with friendly warnings and wise counsels, she
herself was beginning to waver. . . .

Nothing is hidden from the eyes of the observing world.
The Countess's new inclination was soon known by every-
body. Some ladies were amazed at her choice ; to many it
seemed quite natural. Some laughed ; others regarded her
conduct as unpardonably indiscreet. In the first intoxica-
tion of passion, Ibrahim and the Countess observed nothing,
but soon the equivocal jokes of the men and the sarcastic
observations of the women began to reach their ears.
Ibrahim's cold and serious manner had hitherto protected
him from such attacks ; he bore them with impatience, and
knew not how to retaliate. The Countess, accustomed to
the respect of the world, could not calmly bear to see her-

426 POUSHKIN*S PROSE TALES.

self an object of calumny and ridicule. With tears in hei
eyes she complained to Ibrahim, now bitterly reproaching
him, now imploring him not to defend her, lest by some use-
less brawl she should be completely ruined.

A new circumstance tended to make her position still
more difficult : the result of imprudent love began to be
noticeable. The Countess in despair informed Ibrahim of
the matter. Consolation, advice, proposals — all were ex-
hausted and all rejected. The Countess saw that her ruin
was inevitable, and in despair awaited it.

As soon as the condition of the Countess became known,
gossip began again with renewed vigour ; sentimental women
gave vent to exclamations of horror; and epigrams were
disseminated with reference to her husband, who alone in
all Paris knew nothing and suspected nothing.

The fatal moment approached. The condition of the
Countess was terrible. Ibrahim visited her every day. He
saw her mental and physical strength gradually giving way.
Her tears and her terror were renewed every moment
Measures were hastily taken. Means were found for getting
the Count out of the way. The doctor arrived. Two days
before this a poor woman had been persuaded to resign into
the hands of strangers her new-born infant ; for this a confi-
dential person was sent. Ibrahim was in the room adjoining
the bedchamber where lay the unhappy Countess. . . . Sud-
denly he heard the weak cry of a child — and, unable to
repress his delight, he rushed into the Countess's room. . . .
A black baby lay upon the bed at her feet. Ibrahim ap-
proached it. His heart beat violently. He blessed his son
with a trembling hand. The Countess smiled faintly and
stretched out to him her feeble hand, but the doctor, fearing
that the excitement might be too great for the patient,
dragged Ibrahim away from her bed. The new-born child
was placed in a covered basket, and carried out of the house

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 427

by a secret staircase. Then the other child was brought in,
and its cradle placed in the bedroom. Ibrahim took his
departure, feeling very ill at ease. The Count was expected.
He returned late, heard of the happy deliverance of his
wife, and was much gratified. In this way the public,
which had been expecting a great scandal, was deceived in
its hope, and was compelled to console itself with slandering.
Everything resumed its usual course.

But Ibrahim felt that there would have to be a change
in his lot, and that sooner or later his relations with the
Countess would come to the knowledge of her husband.
In that case, whatever might happen, the ruin of the
Countess was inevitable. Ibrahim loved passionately and
was passionately loved in return, but the Countess was
wilful and light-minded ; it was not the first time that she
had loved. Disgust, and even hatred might replace in her
heart the most tender feelings. Ibrahim already foresaw
the moment of her coolness. Hitherto he had not known
jealousy, but with dread he now felt a presentiment of it ;
he thought that the pain of separation would be less dis-
tressing, and he resolved to break off the unhappy connec-
tion, leave Paris, and return to Russia, whither Peter and a
vague sense of duty had been calling him for a long time.

428

CHAPTER II.

DAYS, months passed, and the enamoured Ibrahim
could not resolve to leave the woman that he had
seduced. The Countess grew more and more attached to
him. Their son was being brought up in a distant pro-
vince. The slanders of the world were beginning to
subside, and the lovers began to enjoy greater tranquillity,
silently remembering the past storm and endeavouring not
to think of the future.

One day Ibrahim was in the lobby of the Duke of
Orleans' residence. The Duke, passing by him, stopped,
and handing him a letter, told him to read it at his leisure.
It was a letter from Peter the First. The Emperor, guessing
the true cause of his absence, wrote to the Duke that he
had no intention of compelling Ibrahim, that he left it to
his own free will to return to Russia or not, but that in
any case he would never abandon his former foster-child.
This letter touched Ibrahim to the bottom of his heart.
From that moment his resolution was taken. The next day
he informed the Regent of his intention to set out imme-
diately for Russia.

" Reflect upon what you are going to do," said the Duke
to him : " Russia is not your native country. I do not
think that you will ever again see your torrid home, but
your long residence in France has made you equally a
stranger to the climate and the ways of life of semi-civilized
Russia. You were not born a subject of Peter. Listen to
my advice : take advantage of his magnanimous permission.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 429

remain in France, for which you have already shed your
blood, and rest assured that here your services and talents
will not remain unrewarded."

Ibrahim thanked the Duke sincerely, but remained firm
in his resolution.

" I feel very sorry," said the Regent : " but perhaps you
are right."

He promised to let him retire from the French service,
and wrote a full account of the matter to the Czar.

Ibrahim was soon ready for the journey. On the eve of
his departure he spent the evening as usual at the house of

the Countess L . She knew nothing. Ibrahim had

not the courage to inform her of his intention. The
Countess was calm and cheerful. She several times called
him to her and joked about his thoughtfulness. After
supper the guests departed. The Countess, her husband,
and Ibrahim were left alone in the parlour. The unhappy
man would have given everything in the world to have

been left alone with her ; but Count L seemed to have

seated himself so comfortably beside the fire, that it ap-
peared useless to hope that he would leave the room. All
three remained silent.

"Bonne niiitV said the Countess at last.

A pang passed through Ibrahim's heart, and he suddenly
felt all the horrors of parting. He stood motionless.

** Bonne nuit^ messieurs ! " repeated the Countess.

Still he remained motionless. ... At last his eyes
became dim, his head swam round, and he could scarcely
walk out of the room. On reaching home, he wrote,
almost unconsciously, the following letter :

" I am going away, dear Leonora ; I am leaving you for
ever. I am writing to you, because I have not the strength
to inform you otherwise.

430 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" My happiness could not continue : I have enjoyed it
against fate and nature. You must have ceased to love
me ; the enchantment must have vanished. This thought
has always pursued me, even in those moments when I
have seemed to forget everything, when at your feet I have
been intoxicated by your passionate self-denial, by your
unbounded tenderness. . . . The thoughtless world un-
mercifully runs down that which it permits in theory; its
cold irony sooner or later would have vanquished you, would
have humbled your ardent soul, and at last you would have
become ashamed of your passion. . . . What would then
have become of me ? No, it were better that I should die,
better that I should leave you before that terrible moment.

" Your tranquillity is dearer to me than everything : you
could not enjoy it while the eyes of the world were fixed
upon you. Think of all that you have suffered, all your
wounded self-love, all the tortures of fear ; remember the
terrible birth of our son. Think : ought I to expose you
any longer to such agitations and dangers ? Why should I
endeavour to unite the fate of such a tender, beautiful
creature to the miserable fate of a negro, of a pitiable being,
scarce worthy of the name of man ?

*• Farewell, Leonora; farewell, my dear and only friend.
I am leaving you, I am leaving the first and last joy of my
life. I have neither fatherland nor kindred ; I am going to
Russia, where my utter loneliness will be a consolation to
me. Serious business, to which from this time forth I
devote myself, if it will not stifle, will at least divert painful
recollections of the days of rapture and bliss. . . . Farewell,
Leonora ! I tear myself away from this letter, as if from
your embrace. Farewell, be happy, and think sometimes of
the poor negro, of your faithful Ibrahim."

That same night he set out for Russia.

PETER THE GREATS NEGRO. 43 1

The journey did not seem to him as terrible as he had
expected. His imagination triumphed over the reality.
The further he got from Paris, the more vivid and nearer
rose up before him the objects he was leaving for ever.

Before he was aware of it he had crossed the Russian
frontier. Autumn had already set in, but the postilions, in
spite of the bad state of the roads, drove him with the
speed of the wind, and on the seventeenth day of his
journey he arrived at Krasnoe Selo, through which at that
time the high road passed.

It was still a distance of twenty-eight versts to Petersburg.
While the horses were being changed, Ibrahim entered the
post-house. In a corner, a tall man, in a green caftan and
with a clay pipe in his mouth, was leaning with his elbows
upon the table reading the *' Hamburg Gazette." Hearing
somebody enter, he raised his head.

" Ah, Ibrahim 1 " he exclaimed, rising from the bench.
" How do you do, godson ? "

Ibrahim recognized Peter, and in his delight was about
to rush towards him, but he respectfully paused. The
Emperor approached, embraced him and kissed him upon
the forehead.

*' I was informed of your coming," said Peter, ** and set
off to meet you. I have been waiting for you here since
yesterday."

Ibrahim could not find words to express his gratitude.

"Let your carriage follow on behind us," continued
the Emperor, " and you take your place by my side and ride
along with me."

The Czar's carriage was driven up ; he took his seat with
Ibrahim, and they set off at a gallop. In about an hour
and a half they reached Petersburg. Ibrahim gazed with
curiosity at the new-born city which had sprung up at the
beck of his master. Bare banks, canals without quay 5,

432 poushkin's prose tales.

wooden bridges everywhere testified to the recent triumph of
the human will over the hostile elements. The houses
seemed to have been built in a hurry. In the whole town
there was nothing magnificent but the Neva, not yet
ornamented with its granite frame, but already covered with
warships and merchant vessels. The imperial carriage
stopped at the palace, /.<?., at the Tsaritsin Garden. On the
steps Peter was met by a woman of about thirty-five years
of age, handsome, and dressed in the latest Parisian
fashion. Peter kissed her and, taking Ibrahim by the hand,
said :

" Do you recognize my godson, Katinka ? ^ I beg you to
love and favour him as formerly."

Catherine fixed on him her dark piercing eyes, and
stretched out her hand to him in a friendly manner. Two
young beauties, tall, slender, and fresh as roses, stood
behind her and respectfully approached Peter.

" Liza," said he to one of them, " do you remember the
little negro who stole my apples for you at Oranienbaum ?
Here he is ; I introduce him to you."

The Grand Duchess laughed and blushed. They went
into the dining-room. In expectation of the Emperor the
table had been laid. Peter sat down to dinner with all his
family, and invited Ibrahim to sit down with them. During
the course of the dinner the Emperor conversed with him on
various subjects, questioned him about the Spanish war, the
internal afi"airs of France and the Regent, whom he liked,
although he blamed him for many things. Ibrahim possessed
an exact and observant mind. Peter was very pleased
with his replies. He recalled to mind some features of
Ibrahim's childhood, and related them with such good-
humour and gaiety, that nobody could have suspected this

^ Diminutive of Catherine.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 433

kind and hospitable host to be the hero of Poltava/ the
powerful and terrible reformer of Russia.

After dinner the Emperor, according to the Russian
custom, retired to rest. Ibrahim remained with the Em-
press and the Grand Duchesses. He tried to satisfy their
curiosity, described the Parisian way of life, the holidays
that were kept there, and the changeable fashions. In
the meantime, some of the persons belonging to the
Emperor's suite had assembled in the palace. Ibrahim
recognized the magnificent Prince MenshikofF, who, seeing
the negro conversing with Catherine, cast an arrogant
glance at him; Prince Jacob Dolgorouky, Peter's stern
counsellor; the learned Bruce,^ who had acquired among
the people the name of the " Russian Faust " ; the young
Ragouzinsky, his former companion, and others who had
come to bring reports to the Emperor and to await his
orders.

In about two hours' time the Emperor appeared.

" Let us see," said he to Ibrahim, " if you have forgotten
your old duties. Take a slate and follow me."

Peter shut himself up in his work-room and busied
himself with state affairs. He worked in turns with Bruce,
with Prince Dolgorouky, and with General Police-master
Devier, and dictated to Ibrahim several ukases and de-
cisions. Ibrahim could not help feeling astonished at the
quickness and firmness of his understanding, the strength
and pliability of his powers of observation, and the variety
of his occupations. When the work was finished, Peter
drew out a pocket-book in order to see if all that he had
proposed to do that day had been accomplished. Then,
issuing from the work-room, he said to Ibrahim :

^ A town in the Ukraine, where, in 1709, the Swedes, under Charles
XII., were completely routed by the Russians under Peter the Great.
^ Peter the Great encouraged foreigners of ability to settle in Russia.

434 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

" It is late ; no doubt you are tired, — sleep here to-night.
as you used to do in the old times ; to-morrow I will wake
you."

Ibrahim, on being left alone, could hardly collect his
thoughts. He found himself in Petersburg ; he saw again
the great man, near whom, not yet knowing his worth, he
had passed his childhood. Almost with regret he confessed

to himself that the Countess L , for the first time since

their separation, had not been his sole thought during the
whole of the day. He saw that the new mode of life which
awaited him, — the activity and constant occupation, — would
revive his soul, wearied by passion, idleness and secret
grief. The thought of being a fellow-worker with the great
man, and, in conjunction with him, of influencing the fate of
a great nation, aroused within him for the first time the noble
feeling of ambition. In this disposition of mind he lay
down upon the camp bed prepared for him, and then the
usual dreams carried him back to far-off Paris, to the arms
of his dear Countess.

435

CHAPTER 111.

THE next morning, Peter, according to his promise,
awoke Ibrahim and congratulated him on his elevation
to the rank of Captain-lieutenant of the Grenadier company
of the Preobrajensky Regiment,^ in which he himself was
Captain. The courtiers surrounded Ibrahim, each in his
way trying to flatter the new favourite. The haughty Prince
Menshikoff pressed his hand in a friendly manner; Shere-
metieff inquired after his Parisian acquaintances, and Golovin
invited him to dinner. Others followed the example of the
latter, so that Ibrahim received invitations for at least a
whole month.

Ibrahim now began to lead a monotonous but busy life,
consequently he did not feel at all dull. From day to day
he became more attached to the Emperor, and was better
able to estimate his lofty soul. To follow the thoughts of a
great man is a very interesting study. Ibrahim saw Peter
in the Senate disputing with Boutourlin and Dolgorouky, in
the Admiralty College discussing the naval power of Russia ;
in his hours of leisure he saw him with Feophan, Gavril
Boujinsky, and Kopievitch, examining translations from
foreign publications, or visiting the manufactory of a mer-
chant, the workshop of a mechanic, or the study of some
learned man. Russia presented to Ibrahim the appearance
of a huge workshop, where machines alone move, where each
workman, subject to established rules, is occupied with his

^ One of the "crack " regiments of the Russian Array.
2F

436 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES. J

own particular business. He felt within himself that he
ought to work at his own bench also, and endeavour to
regret as little as possible the gaieties of his Parisian life.
But it was more difficult for him to drive from his mind that
other dear recollection : he often thought of the Countess

L , and pictured to himself her just indignation, her

tears and her grief. . . . But sometimes a terrible thought
oppressed him : the seductions of the great world, a new
tie, another favourite — he shuddered; jealousy began to
set his African blood in a ferment, and hot tears were ready
to roll down his swarthy face.

One morning he was sitting in his study, surrounded by
business papers, when suddenly he heard a loud greeting in
French. Ibrahim turned round quickly, and young Kor-
sakoff, whom he had left in Paris in the whirl of the great
world, embraced him with joyful exclamations.

" I have only just arrived," said Korsakoff, " and I have
come straight to you. All our Parisian acquaintances send
their greetings to you, and regret your absence. The
Countess L ordered me to summon you to return with-
out fail, and here is her letter to you."

Ibrahim seized it with a trembling hand and looked at the
well-known handwriting of the address, not daring to believe
his eyes.

" How glad I am," continued Korsakoff, " that you have
not yet died of ennui in this barbarous Petersburg ! What
do people do here? How do they occupy themselves?
Who is your tailor? Have they established an opera?"

Ibrahim absently replied that probably the Emperor was
just then at work in the dockyard.

Korsakoff laughed.

" I see," said he, " that you do not want me just now j
some other time we will have a long chat together ; I am
now going to pay my respects to the Emperor."

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 437

With these words he turned on his heel and hastened out
of the room.

Ibrahim, left alone, hastily opened the letter. The
Countess tenderly complained to him, reproaching him
with dissimulation and distrustfulness.

" You say," wrote she, " that my tranquillity is dearer to
you than everything in the world. Ibrahim, if this were the
truth, would you have brought me to the condition to which
I was reduced by the unexpected news of your departure ?
You were afraid that I might have detained you. Be
assured that, in spite of my love, I should have known how
to sacrifice it for your happiness and for what you consider
your duty."

The Countess ended the letter with passionate assurances
of love, and implored him to write to her, if only now and
then, even though there should be no hope of their ever
seeing each other again.

Ibrahim read this letter through twenty times, kissing the
priceless lines with rapture. He was burning with impatience
to hear something about the Countess, and he was just pre-
paring to set out for the Admiralty, hoping to find Korsakoff
still there, when the door opened, and Korsakoff himself
appeared once more. He had already paid his respects to
the Emperor, and as was usual with him, he seemed very
well satisfied with himself.

^^ Entre nouSy^ he said to Ibrahim, "the Emperor is a
very strange man. Just fancy, I found him in a sort of linen
under-vest, on the mast of a new ship, whither I was com-
pelled to climb with my dispatches. I stood on the rope
ladder, and had not sufficient room to make a suitable bow,
and so I became completely confused, a thing that had never
happened to me in my life before. However, when the
Emperor had read my letter, he looked at me from head to
foot, and no doubt was agreeably struck by the taste and

438 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

splendour of my attire; at any rate he smiled and invited
me to to-day's assembly. But I am a perfect stranger in
Petersburg ; during the course of my six years' absence I
have quite forgotten the local customs ; pray be my mentor ;
come with me and introduce me."

Ibrahim agreed to do so, and hastened to turn the con-
versation to a subject that was more interesting to him.

" Well, and how about the Countess L ."

" The Countess ? Of course, at first she was very much
grieved on account of your departure ; then, of course, little
by little, she grew reconciled and took unto herself a new
lover: do you know whom? The long-legged Marquis

R . Why do you show the whites of your negro eyes in

that manner? Does it seem strange to you? Don't you
know that lasting grief is not in human nature, particularly
in feminine nature ? Think over this well, while I go and
rest after my journey, and don't forget to come and call
for me."

What feelings filled the soul of Ibrahim? Jealousy?
Rage ? Despair ? No, but a deep, oppressing sorrow. He
repeated to himself : " I foresaw it, it had to happen." Then
he opened the Countess's letter, read it again, hung his
head and wept bitterly. He wept for a long time. The
tears relieved his heart. Looking at the clock, he perceived
that it was time to set out. Ibrahim would have been very
glad to stay away, but the assembly was a matter of duty,
and the Emperor strictly demanded the presence of his
retainers. He dressed himself and started out to call for
Korsakoff.

Korsakoff was sitting in his dressing-gown, reading a
French book.

" So early ? " he said to Ibrahim, on seeing him.

" Pardon me," the latter replied; *'it is already half-past
five, we shall be late ; make haste and dress and let us go."

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 439

Korsakoff started up and rang the bell with all his might;
the servants came running in, and he began hastily to dress
himself. His French valet gave him shoes with red heels,
blue velvet breeches, and a red caftan embroidered with
spangles. His peruke was hurriedly powdered in the ante-
chamber and brought in to him. Korsakoff placed it upon
his cropped head, asked for his sword and gloves, turned
round about ten times before the glass, and then informed
Ibrahim that he was ready. The footmen handed them
their bearskin cloaks, and they set out for the Winter
Palace.

Korsakoff overwhelmed Ibrahim with questions : Who
was the greatest beauty in Petersburg ? Who was supposed
to be the best dancer? Which dance was just then the
rage? Ibrahim very reluctantly gratified his curiosity.
Meanwhile they reached the palace. A great number of
long sledges, old-fashioned carriages, and gilded coaches
already stood on the lawn. Near the steps were crowded
coachmen in liveries and moustaches; running footmen
glittering with tinsel and feathers, and bearing staves;
hussars, pages, and clumsy servants loaded with the cloaks
and muffs of their masters — a train indispensable according
to the notions of the gentry of that time. At the sight of
Ibrahim, a general murmur arose : ** The negro, the negro,
the Czar's negro ! " He hurriedly conducted Korsakoff
through this motley crowd. The Court lackey opened wide
the doors to them, and they entered the hall. Korsakoff
was dumfounded. ... In the large room, illuminated by
tallow candles, which burnt dimly amidst clouds of tobacco
smoke, magnates with blue ribbons across their shoulders,
ambassadors, foreign merchants, officers of the Guards in
green uniforms, ship-masters in jackets and striped trousers,
moved backwards and forwards in crowds to the uninter-
rupted sound of the music of wind instruments. The ladies

440 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

sat against the walls, the young ones being decked out in all
the splendour of the prevailing fashion. Gold and silver
glittered upon their dresses ; out of monstrous farthingales
their slender forms rose like flower stalks; diamonds
sparkled in their ears, in their long curls, and around their
necks. They glanced gaily about to the right and to the
left, waiting for their cavaliers and for the dancing to begin.
The elderly ladies craftily endeavoured to combine the new
style of dress with that of the past ; their caps were made to
resemble the small sable head-dress of the Empress Natalia
Kirilovna,^ and their gowns and mantles recalled the
sarafan and doushegreika^ They seemed to take part in
these newly introduced amusements more with astonishment
than pleasure, and cast looks of resentment at the wives and
daughters of the Dutch skippers, who, in dimity skirts and
red jackets, knitted their stockings and laughed and chatted
among themselves as if they were at home.

Observing new arrivals, a servant approached them with
beer and glasses on a tray. Korsakoff was completely
bewildered.

" Que diable est ce que tout cela 1 " he said in a whisper to
Ibrahim.

Ibrahim could not repress a smile. The Empress and
the Grand Duchesses, dazzling in their beauty and their
attire, walked through the rows of guests, conversing affably
with them. The Emperor was in another room. Korsakoff",
wishing to show himself to him, with difficulty succeeded in
pushing his way thither through the constantly moving
crowd. In this room were chiefly foreigners, solemnly
smoking their clay pipes and drinking out of earthenware
jugs. On the tables were bottles of beer and wine, leather
pouches with tobacco, glasses of punch, and some chess-

^ The mother of Peter the Great. "^ A short sleeveless jacket.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 44I

i( boards. At one of these Peter was playing at chess with a
! i broad-shouldered English skipper. They zealously saluted
;' one another with whiffs of tobacco smoke, and the Emperor
! was so occupied with an unexpected move that had been
, i made by his opponent, that he did not observe Korsakoff, as
! he smirked and capered about them. Just then a stout
1 gentleman, with a large bouquet upon his breast, rushed
i hurriedly into the room and announced in a loud voice that
j the dancing had commenced, and immediately retired. A
large number of the guests followed him, Korsakoff being
1 among the number.

; An unexpected scene filled him with astonishment. Along
the whole length of the ball-room, to the sound of the most
mournful music, the ladies and gentlemen stood in two rows
racing each other; the gentlemen bowed low, the ladies
curtsied still lower, first to the front, then to the right, then
to the left, then again to the front, again to the right, and so
on. Korsakoff, gazing at this peculiar style of amusement,
opened wide his eyes and bit his lips. The curtseying and
bowing continued for about half an hour; at last they
ceased, and the stout gentleman with the bouquet announced
that the ceremonial dances were ended, and ordered the
musicians to play a minuet. Korsakoff felt delighted, and
prepared to shine. Among the young ladies was one in
particular whom he was greatly charmed with. She was
about sixteen years of age, was richly dressed, but with
taste, and sat near an elderly gentleman of stern and dignified
appearance. Korsakoff approached her and asked her to do
him the honour of dancing with him. The young beauty
looked at him in confusion, and did not seem to know what
to say to him. The gentleman sitting near her frowned
still more. Korsakoff awaited her decision, but the gentle-
man with the bouquet came up to him, led him to the
middle of the room, and said in a pompous manner ;

442 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

'* Sir, you have done wrong. In the first place, you
approached this young person without making the three
necessary reverences to her, and in the second place, you
took upon yourself to choose her, whereas, in the minuet
that right belongs to the lady, and not to the gentleman.
On that account you must be severely, punished, that is to
say, you must drain the goblet of the Great Eagle."

Korsakoff grew more and more astonished. In a moment
the guests surrounded him, loudly demanding the imme-
diate fulfilment of the law. Peter, hearing the laughter and
the cries, came out of the adjoining room, as he was very
fond of being present in person at such punishments. The
crowd divided before him, and he entered the circle, where
stood the culprit and before him the marshal of the Court
holding in his hands a huge goblet filled with malmsey wine.
He was trying in vain to persuade the offender to comply
willingly with the law.

"Aha !" said Peter, seeing Korsakoff: "you are caught,
my friend. Come now, monsieur, drink up and no frown-
ing about it."

There was no help for it : the poor beau, without pausing
to take breath, drained the goblet to the dregs and returned
it to the marshal.

" Hark you, Korsakoff," said Peter to him : " those
breeches of yours are of velvet, such as I myself do not
wear, and I am far richer than you. That is extravagance ;
take care that I do not fall out with you."

Hearing this reprimand, Korsakoff wished to make his
way out of the circle, but he staggered and almost fell, to the
indescribable delight of the Emperor and all the merry com-
pany. This episode not only did not spoil the unison and
interest of the principal performance, but even enlivened it.
The gentlemen began to scrape and bow, and the ladies to
curtsey and knock their heels with great zeal, and this time

PETER THE CREATES NEGRO. 443

without paying the least attention to the time of the music.
Korsakoff could not take part in the general gaiety. The
lady, whom he had chosen, by the order of her father,
Gavril Afanassievitch Rjevsky, approached Ibrahim, and,
dropping her blue eyes, timidly gave him her hand.
Ibrahim danced the minuet with her and led her back to
her former place, then sought out Korsakoff, led him out of
the ball-room, placed him in the carriage and drove home.
On the way Korsakoff began to mutter in an incoherent
manner : " Accursed assembly ! . . . accursed goblet of the
Great Eagle ! " . . . but he soon fell into a sound sleep, and
knew not how he reached home, nor how he was undressed
and put into bed : and he awoke the next day with a head-
ache, and with a dim recollection of the scraping, the
curtseying, the tobacco-smoke, the gentleman with the
bouquet, and the goblet of the Great Eagle.

/

444

CHAPTER IV.

r MUST now introduce the gracious reader to Gavril
A Afanassievitch Rjevsky. He was descended from an
ancient noble family, possessed vast estates, was hospitable,
loved falconry, and had a large number of domestics, — in a
word, he was a genuine Russian nobleman. To use his own
expression, he could not endure the German spirit, and he
endeavoured to preserve in his home the ancient customs
that were so dear to him. His daughter was in her seven-
teenth year. She had lost her mother while she was yet in
her infancy, and she had been brought up in the old style,
that is to say, she was surrounded by governesses, nurses,
playfellows, and maidservants, was able to embroider in
gold, and could neither read nor write. Her father, notwith-
standing his dislike to everything foreign, could not oppose
her wish to learn German dances from a captive Swedish
officer, living in their house. This deserving dancing-
master was about fifty years of age ; his right foot had been
shot through at Narva,^ and consequently he was not very
well suited for minuets and courantes, but the left executed
with wonderful ease and agiHty the most difficult steps. His
pupil did honour to his teaching. Natalia Gavrilovna was
celebrated for being the best dancer at the assemblies,
and this was partly the cause of the mistake made by
Korsakoff, who came the next day to apologize to Gavril

^ A town on the southern shore of the Gulf of Finland, and the scene
of a great battle in 1700, when the Russians were completely routed by
the Swedes under Charles XII.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 445

Afanassievitch ; but the airiness and elegance of the young
fop did not find favour in the eyes of the proud noble, who
wittily nicknamed him the French monkey-
It was a holiday. Gavril Afanassievitch expected some
relatives and friends. In the ancient hall a long table was
laid. The guests arrived with their wives and daughters, who
had at last been set free from domestic imprisonment by the
decree of the Emperor and by his own example.^ Natalia
Gavrilovna carried round to each guest a silver tray laden
with golden cups, and each man, as he drained his, re-
gretted that the kiss, which it was customary to receive
on such occasions in the olden times, had gone out of
fashion.

They sat down to table. In the first place, next to the
host, sat his father-in-law, Prince Boris Alexeievitch Likoff,
a boyar ^ of seventy years of age ; the other guests ranged
themselves according to the antiquity of their family, thus
recalling the happy times when respect for age was observed.
The men sat on one side, the women on the other. At the
end of the table, the housekeeper in her old-fashioned
costume — a little woman of thirty, affected and wrinkled —
and the captive dancing-master, in his faded blue uniform,
occupied their accustomed places. The table, which was
covered with a large number of dishes, was surrounded by
an anxious crowd of domestics, among whom was dis-
tinguishable the house-steward, with his severe look, big
paunch and lofty immobility. The first few minutes of
dinner were devoted entirely to the productions of our old
cookery; the noise of plates and the rattling of spoons
alone interrupted the general silence. At last the host,

^ Previous to the reign of Peter the Great, the Russian women lived
in almost Oriental seclusion, and it was for the purpose of abolishing
this custom that Peter established his famous "assemblies."

* A noble of the second degree.

44^ POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

seeing that the time had arrived for amusing the guests with
agreeable conversation, turned round and asked :

" But where is Ekemovna ? Summon her hither."

Several servants were about to rush off in different direc-
tions, but at that moment an old woman, painted white and
red, decorated with flowers and tinsel, in a silk gown with
a low neck, entered, singing and dancing. Her appearance
produced general satisfaction.

"Good-day, Ekemovna," said Prince Likoff: "how do
you do?"

" Quite well and happy, gossip : still singing and dancing
and looking out for sweethearts."

*' Where have you been, fool ? " asked the host.

"Decorating myself, gossip, for the dear guests, for this
holy day, by order of the Czar, by command of my master,
to be a laughing-stock for everybody after the German
manner."

At these words there arose a loud burst of laughter, and
the fool took her place behind the host's chair.

" A fool talks nonsense, but sometimes speaks the truth,"
said Tatiana Afanassievna, the eldest sister of the host, and
for whom he entertained great respect. " As a matter of
fact, the present fashion must seem ridiculous in the eyes of
everybody. But since you, gentlemen, have shaved off your
beards ^ and put on short caftans^ it is, of course, useless to
talk about women's rags, although it is really a pity about
the sarafan^ the maiden's ribbons, and t\iQ povoinik/^ It is
pitiable and at the same time laughable, to see the beauties
of to-day : their hair frizzed like tow, greased and covered
with French powder ; the waist drawn in to such a degree,

^ In his zeal to introduce into his empire the customs of Western
Europe, Peter the Great issued an order that all Russians were to shave
off their beards.

^ The national head-dress of the Russian women.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 447

that it is almost on the point of breaking in two; theii
petticoats are distended with hoops, so that they have to
enter a carriage sideways ; to go through a door they are
obhged to stoop down ; they can neither stand, nor sit, nor
breathe — real martyrs, the poor doves ! "

** Oh, little mother Tatiana Afanassievna ! " said Kirila

Petrovitch T , a former governor of Riazan, where he

acquired three thousand serfs and a young wife, both by
somewhat dishonourable means, " as far as I am concerned,
my wife may diess as she pleases, and wear what she likes,
provided that she does not order new dresses every month
and throw away the former ones that are nearly new. In
former times the grandmother's sarafan formed part of the
granddaughter's dowry, but nowadays all that is changed :
the dress, that the mistress wears to-day, you will see the
servant wearing to-morrow. What is to be done ? It is the
ruin of the Russian nobility, alas ! "

At these words he sighed and looked at his Maria
Ilienishna, who did not seem at all to like either his
praises of the past or his disparagement of the latest cus-
toms. The other young ladies shared her displeasure, but
they remained silent, for modesty was then considered an
indispensable attribute in young women.

"And who is to blame?" said Gavril Afanassievitch,
filling a tankard with an effervescing beverage. "Isn't it
our own fault? The young women play the fool, and we
encourage them."

"But what can we do, when our wishes are not con-
sulted ? " replied Kirila Petrovitch. " One would be glad
to shut his wife up in an attic, but with beating of drums
she is summoned to appear at the assemblies. The husband
goes after the whip, but the wife after dress. Oh, those
assemblies ! The Lord has sent them upon us as^a punish-
ment for our sins."

44^ POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Maria Ilienishna sat as if upon needles; her tongue
itched to speak. At last she could restrain herself no
longer, and turning to her husband, she asked him with an
acid smile, what he found wrong in the assemblies.

"This is what I find wrong in them," replied the pro-
voked husband : " since the time when they commenced,
husbands have been unable to manage their wives; wives
have forgotten the words of the Apostle : ' Let the wife
reverence her husband*; they no longer busy themselves
about domestic affairs, but about new dresses ; they do not
think of how to please their husbands, but how to attract
the attention of frivolous officers. And is it becoming,
Madame, for a Russian lady to associate with German
smokers and their work-women? And was ever such a
thing heard of, as dancing and talking with young men till"-
far into the night ? It would be all very well if it were with
relatives, but with strangers, with people that they are
totally unacquainted with ! "

" I would say just a word, but there is a wolf not far off,"
said Gavril Afanassievitch, frowning. ** I confess that these
assemblies are not to my liking : before you know where
you are, you knock against some drunkard, or are made
drunk yourself to become the laughing-stock of others.
Then you must keep your eyes open lest some good-for-
nothing fellow should act the fool with your daughter ; the
young men nowadays are so spoilt, that they cannot be
worse. Look, for example, at the son of the late Evgraf
Sergeievitch Korsakoff, who at the last assembly made so
much noise about Natasha,^ that it brought the blood to
my cheeks. The next day I see somebody driving straight
into my courtyard ; I thought to myself, who in the name
of Heaven is it, can it be Prince Alexander Danilovitch P^

' Diminutive of Natalia.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 449

But no : it was Ivan Evgrafovitch ! He could not stop at
the gate and make his way on foot to the steps, not he !
He flew in, bowing and chattering, the Lord preserve us !
The fool Ekemovna mimics him very amusingly : by the
way, fool, give us an imitation of the foreign monkey."

The fool Ekemovna seized hold of a dish-cover, placed
it under her arm like a hat, and began twisting, scraping,
and bowing in every direction, repeating: "monsieur
. . . mamselle . . . assembl^e . . . pardon." General
and prolonged laughter again testified to the delight of the
guests.

"Just like Korsakoff," said old Prince Likoff, wiping
away the tears of laughter, when calmness was again re-
stored. " But why conceal the fact ? He is not the first,
nor will he be the last, who has returned from abroad to
holy Russia a buffoon. What do our children learn there ?
To scrape with their feet, to chatter God knows in what
gibberish, to treat their elders with disrespect, and to
dangle after other men's wives. Of all the young people
who have been educated abroad (the Lord forgive me !)
the Czar's negro most resembles a man."

" Oh, Prince," said Tatiana Afanassievna : " I have seen
him, I have seen him quite close : what a frightful muzzle
he has ! He quite terrified me ! "

" Of course," observed Gavril Afanassievitch : " he is a
sober, decent man, and not a mere weathercock. . . . But
who is it that has just driven through the gate into the
courtyard ? Surely it cannot be that foreign monkey again ?
Why do you stand gaping there, beasts?" he continued,
turning to the servants : " run and stop him from coming in,
and for the future . . ."

"Old beard, are you dreaming?" interrupted Ekemovna
the fool, " or are you blind ? It is the imperial sledge — the
Czar has come."

450 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Gavril Afanassievitch rose hastily from the table ; every-
body rushed to the window, and sure enough they saw the
Emperor ascending the steps, leaning on the shoulder of his
servant. A great confusion arose. The host rushed tc
meet Peter ; the servants ran hither and thither as if the)
had gone crazy; the guests became alarmed; some evei
thought how they might hasten home as quickly as possible.
Suddenly the thundering voice of Peter resounded in the
ante-room ; all became silent, and the Czar entered, accom-
panied by his host, who was beside himself with joy.

" Good day, gentlemen ! " said Peter, with a cheerfi
countenance.

All made a profound bow. The sharp eyes of the Czai
sought out in the crowd the young daughter of the host ; he
called her to him. Natalia Gavrilovna advanced boldly
enough, but she blushed not only to the ears but even to the
shoulders.

** You grow more beautiful every day,*' said the Emperoi
to her, and according to his usual custom he kissed hei
upon the head ; then turning to the guests, he added : " ]
have disturbed you? You were dining? Pray sit down
again, and give me some aniseed brandy, Gavril Afanassie-
vitch."

The host rushed to the stately house-steward, snatched
from his hand a tray, filled a golden goblet himself, anc
gave it with a bow to the Emperor. Peter drank the brandy,
ate a biscuit, and for the second time requested the guests
to continue their dinner. All resumed their former places,
except the dwarf and the housekeeper, who did not dare to
remain at a table honoured by the presence of the Czar.
Peter sat down by the side of the host and asked for some
soup. The Emperor's servant gave him a wooden spoon
mounted with ivory, and a knife and fork with green bone
handles, for Peter never used any other knives, forks and

PETER THE GREATS NEGRO. 45 1

spoons but his own. The dinner, which a moment before
had been so noisy and merry, was now continued in silence
and constraint. The host, through respect and delight, ate
nothing ; the guests also stood upon ceremony and listened
with respectful attention, as the Emperor discoursed in
German with the captive Swede about the campaign of
1 701. The fool Ekemovna, several times questioned by
the Emperor, replied with a sort of timid coldness, which,
be it remarked, did not at all prove her natural stupidity. At
last the dinne:r came to an end. The Emperor rose, and
after him all the guests.

" Gavril Afanassievitch ! " he said to the host : " I want
to say a word with you alone ; " and, taking him by the arm,
he led him into the parlour and locked the door. The
guests remained in the dining-room, talking in whispers
about the unexpected visit, and, afraid of being indiscreet,
they soon dispersed one after another, without thanking the
host for his hospitaHty. His father-in-law, daughter, and
sister conducted them very quietly to the door, and remained
alone in the dining-room, awaiting the issue of the Emperor,

2G

452

CHAPTER V.

ABOUT half an hour afterwards the door opened and
Peter issued forth. With a dignified inclination of
the head he replied to the threefold bow of Prince Likoff,
Tatiana Afanassievna and Natasha, and walked straight out
into the ante-room. The host handed him his red cloak,
conducted him to the sledge, and on the steps thanked him
once more for the honour he had shown him.

Peter drove off.

Returning to the dining-room, Gavril Afanassievitch
seemed very much troubled; he angrily ordered the ser-
vants to clear the table as quickly as possible, sent Natasha
to her own room, and, informing his sister and father-in-law
that he must talk with them, he led them into the bedroom,
where he usually rested after dinner. The old Prince lay
down upon the oak bed ; Tatiana Afanassievna sat down in
the old silk-lined armchair, and placed her feet upon the
footstool ; Gavril Afanassievitch locked the doors, sat down
upon the bed at the feet of Prince Likoff, and in a low voice
began :

" It was not for nothing that the Emperor paid me a visit
to-day : guess what he wanted to talk to me about."

"How can we know, brother?" said Tatiana Afanassievna,

" Has the Czar appointed you to some government ? " said
his father-in-law : — *' it is quite time enough that he did so.
Or has he offered an embassy to you? Why not? That
need not mean being a mere secretary — distinguished people
are sent to foreign monarchs."

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 453

"No," replied his son-in-law, frowning. "I am a man of
the old school, and our services nowadays are of no use,
although, perhaps, an orthodox Russian nobleman is worth
more than these modern upstarts, bakers and heathens. But
this is a different matter altogether."

" Then what is it, brother ? " said Tatiana Afanassievna.
"Why was he talking with you for such a long time? Can
it be that you are threatened with some misfortune ? The
Lord save and defend us ! "

" No misfortune, certainly, but I confess that it is a matter
for reflection."

"Then what is it, brother? What is the matter about ? "

** It is about Natasha : the Czar came to ask for her hand."

" God be thanked ! " said Tatiana Afanassievna, crossing
herself. " The maiden is of a marriageable age, and as the
matchmaker is, so must the bridegroom be. God give
them love and counsel, the honour is great. For whom
does the Czar ask her hand ? "

"H'm!" exclaimed Gavril Afanassievitch ; "for whom?
That's just it — for whom ! "

" Who is it, then ? " repeated Prince Likoff, already be-
ginning to doze off to sleep.

" Guess," said Gavril Afanassievitch.

" My dear brother," repUed the old lady : " how can we
guess ? There are a great number of marriageable men at
Court, each of whom would be glad to take your Natasha for
his wife. Is it Dolgorouky ? "

"No, it is not Dolgorouky."

"God be with him: he is too overbearing. Schein?
Troekouroff ? "

" No, neither the one nor the other."

" I do not care for them either ; they are flighty, and too
much imbued with the German spirit. Well, is it Milo-
slavsky ? "

454

poushkin's prose tales.

"No, not he."

" God be with him, he is rich and stupid. Who then ?
Eletsky? Lvoff? It cannot be Ragouzinsky? I cannot
think of anybody else. For whom, then, does the Czar want
Natasha ? "

" For the negro Ibrahim."

The old lady uttered a cry and clasped her hands. Prince
Likoff raised his head from the pillow, and with astonishmei
repeated :

" For the negro Ibrahim ? "

" My dear brother ! " said the old lady in a tearful voice|
" do not destroy your dear child, do not deliver poor littU
Natasha into the clutches of that black devil."

"How?" replied Gavril Afanassievitch : "refuse the
Emperor, who promises in return to bestow his favour upor
us and all our house."

" What ! " exclaimed the old Prince, who was now wi(
awake : " Natasha, my granddaughter, to be married to
bought negro." ,,

" He is not of common birth," said Gavril Afanassievitch]
" he is the son of a negro Sultan. The Mussulmen toe
him prisoner and sold him in Constantinople, and oui
ambassador bought him and presented him to the CzarJ
The negro's eldest brother came to Russia with a con«
siderable ransom and "

" We have heard the story of Bova Korolevitch ^ an(
Erouslana Lazarevitch." ^

" My dear Gavril Afanassievitch ! " interrupted the oh
lady, "tell us rather how you replied to the Emperor's
proposal."

" I said that we were under his authority, and that it was
our duty to obey him in all things."

^ The two principal characters in one of the legendary stories ofj
Russia.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 455

At that moment a noise was heard behind the door.
Gavril Afanassievitch went to open it, but felt some obstruc-
tion. He pushed against it with increased force, the door
opened, and they saw Natasha lying in a swoon upon the
blood-stained floor.

Her heart sank within her, when the Emperor shut him-
self up with her father; some presentiment whispered to
her that the matter concerned her, and when Gavril
Afanassievitch ordered her to withdraw, saying that he
wished to speak to her aunt and grandfather, she could not
resist the instinct of feminine curiosity, stole quietly along
through the inner rooms to the bedroom door, and did not
miss a single word of the whole terrible conversation ; when
she heard her father's last words, the poor girl lost con-
sciousness, and falling, struck her head against an iron-
bound chest, in which was kept her dowry.

The servants hastened to the spot ; Natasha was lifted
up, carried to her own room, and placed in bed. After a
little time she regained consciousness, opened her eyes, but
recognized neither father nor aunt. A violent fever set in ;
she spoke in her delirium about the Czar's negro, about
marriage, and suddenly cried in a plaintive and piercing voice :

" Valerian, dear Valerian, my life, save me ! there they
are, there they are. . . ."

Tatiana Afanassievna glanced uneasily at her brother,
who turned pale, bit his lips, and silently left the room. He
returned to the old Prince, who, unable to mount the
stairs, had remained below.

" How is Natasha?" asked he.

" Very bad," replied the grieved father : " worse than I
thought ; she is delirious, and raves about Valerian."

" Who is this Valerian ? " asked the anxious old man.
*' Can it be that orphan, the archer's son, whom you
brought up in your house ? "

45^ POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

** The same, to my misfortune ! " replied Gavril Afan.
assievitch. "His father, at the time of the rebellion,
saved my life, and the devil induced me to take thi
accursed young wolf into my house. When, two years ag<
he was enrolled in the regiment at his own requesi
Natasha, on taking leave of him, shed bitter tears, and h(
stood as if petrified. This seemed suspicious to me, and
spoke about it to my sister. But since that time Natashi
has never mentioned his name, and nothing whatever h;
been heard of him. I thought that she had forgotten hii
but it is evident that such is not the case. But it is
decided : she shall marry the negro."

Prince Likoff did not contradict him : it would havi
been useless. He returned home; Tatiana Afanassievn;
remained by the side of Natasha's bed ; Gavril Afanassie-
vitch, having sent for the doctor, locked himself in hi
room, and in his house all was still and sad.

The unexpected proposal astonished Ibrahim quite ai
much as Gavril Afanassievitch. This is how it happened.
Peter, being engaged in business with Ibrahim, said to
him :

" I perceive, my friend, that you are downhearted ;
speak frankly, what is it you want ? "

Ibrahim assured the Emperor that he was very well
satisfied with his lot, and wished for nothing better.

" Good," said the Emperor : " if you are dull without
any cause, I know how to cheer you up."

At the conclusion of the work, Peter asked Ibrahim :

*' Do you like the young lady with whom you danced the
minuet at the last assembly ? "

" She is very charming, Your Majesty, and seems to be a
good and modest girl."

" Then I shall take it upon myself to make you better
acquainted with her. Would you like to marry her ? "

1

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 45/

'* I, Your Majesty ? "

"Listen, Ibrahim: you are a man alone in the world,
without birth and kindred, a stranger to everybody, except
myself. Were I to die to-day, what would become of you
to-morrow, my poor negro? You must get settled while
there is yet time, find support in new ties, become con-
nected by marriage with the Russian nobility."

" Your Majesty, I am happy under your protection, and
in the possession of your favour. God grant that I may
not survive my Czar and benefactor — I wish for nothing
more; but even if I had any idea of getting married,
would the young lady and her relations consent ? My
appearance "

^' Your appearance ? What nonsense ! A clever fellow
like you, too ! A young girl must obey the will of her
parents, and we will see what old Gavril Rjevsky will say,
when I myself will be your matchmaker."

With these words the Emperor ordered his sledge, and
left Ibrahim sunk in deep reflection.

" Get married ? " thought the African : " why not ? Am
I to be condemned to pass my life in solitude, and not
know the greatest pleasure and the most sacred duties of
man, just because I was born beneath the torrid zone ? I
cannot hope to be loved : a childish objection ! Is it
possible to believe in love? Does it then exist in the
frivolous heart of woman ? As I have renounced for ever
such alluring errors, I must devote my attention to ideas oi
a more practical nature. The Emperor is right : I must
think of my future. Marriage with the young Rjevsky will
connect me with the proud Russian nobility, and I shall
cease to be a sojourner in my new fatherland. From my
wife I shall not require love : I shall be satisfied with her
fidelity ; and her friendship I will acquire by constant
tenderness, confidence and devotion."

458 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Ibrahim, according to his usual custom, wished to occupy
himself with work, but his imagination was too excited. He
left the papers and went for a stroll along the banks of the
Neva. Suddenly he heard the voice of Peter ; he looked
round and saw the Emperor, who, dismissing his sledge,
advanced towards him with a beaming countenance.

" It is all settled, my friend ! " said Peter, taking him by
the arm : " I have affianced you. To-morrow, go and visit
your father-in-law, but see that you humour his boyar
pride : leave the sledge at the gate, go through the court-
yard on foot, talk to him about his services and distinctions,
and he will be perfectly charmed with you. . . . And
now," continued he, shaking his cudgel, " lead me to that
rogue Danilitch, with whom I must confer about his recent
pranks."

Ibrahim thanked Peter heartily for his fatherly solicitude
on his account, accompanied him as far as the magnificent
palace of Prince Menshikoff, and then returned home.

459

CHAPTER VI.

DIMLY burnt the lamp before the glass case in which
glittered the gold and silver frames of the sacred
images. The flickering light faintly illuminated the
curtained bed and the little table set out with labelled
medicine-bottles. Near the stove sat a servant-maid at her
spinning-wheel, and the subdued noise of the spindle was
the only sound that broke the silence of the room.

*' Who is there?" asked a feeble voice.

The servant-maid rose immediately, approached the bed,
and gently raised the curtain.

" Will it soon be daylight?" asked Natalia.

" It is alreaj^y midday," replied the maid.

I" Oh, Lord of Heaven ! and why is it so dark?"
" The shutters are closed, miss."
'• Help me to dress quickly."
' *' You must not do so, miss ; the doctor has forbidden it."
' *' Am I ill then ? How long have I been so ? "
'* About a fortnight."

"Is it possible? And it seems to me as if it were only
yesterday that I went to bed. . . ."

Natasha became silent; she tried to collect her scattered
thoughts. Something had happened to her, but what it
was she could not exactly remember. The maid stood
before her, awaiting her orders. At that moment a dull
noise was heard below.

" What is that ? " asked the invalid.

"The gentlemen have finished dinner," replied the

46o poushkin's prose tales.

maid: *' they are rising from the table. Tatiana Afan-
assievna will be here presently."

Natasha seemed pleased at this; she waved her feeble
hand. The maid dropped the curtain and seated herself
again at the spinning-wheel.

A few minutes afterwards, a head in a broad white cap
with dark ribbons appeared in the doorway and asked in
a low voice :

*'Howis Natasha?"

" How do you do, auntie ? " said the invalid in a faint
voice, and Tatiana Afanassievna hastened towards her.

"The young lady has regained consciousness," said the
maid, carefully drawing a chair to the side of the bed.
The old lady, with tears in her eyes, kissed the pale,
languid face of her niece, and sat down beside her. Just
behind her came a German doctor in a black caftan and
learned wig. He felt Natalia's pulse, and announced in
Latin, and then in Russian, that the danger was over. He
asked for paper and ink, wrote out a new prescription, and
departed. The old lady rose, kissed Natalia once more,
and immediately hurried down with the good news to
Gavril Afanassievitch.

In the parlour, in uniform, with sword by his side and
hat in his hand, sat the Czar's negro, respectfully talking
with Gavril Afanassievitch. Korsakoff, stretched out upon
a soft couch, was listening to their conversation, and
teasing a venerable greyhound. Becoming tired of this
occupation, he approached the mirror, the usual refuge of
the idle, and in it he saw Tatiana Afanassievna, who
through the doorway w^'s making unnoticed signs to her
brother.

" Someone is calling you, Gavril Afanassievitch," said
Korsakoff, turning round to him and interrupting Ibrahim's
speech.

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO. 46 1

Gavril Afanassievitch immediately went to his sister and
closed the door behind him.

"I am astonished at your patience," said Korsakoff to
Ibrahim. " For a full hour you have been listening to a lot
of nonsense about the antiquity of the Likoff and Rjevsky
families, and have even added your own moral observa-
tions ! In your place faurais plante Id the old babbler
and all his race, including Natalia Gavrilovna, who is an
affected girl, and is only pretending to be ill — une petite
sante. Tell me candidly: do you really love this little
mijauree ? "

*'No," replied Ibrahim: "I am certainly not going to
marry, out of love, but out of prudence, and then only if
she has no decided aversion to me."

*' Listen, Ibrahim," said Korsakoff, "follow my advice
this time ; in truth, I am more discreet than I seem. Get
this fooHsh idea out of your head — don't marry. It seems
to me that your bride has no particular liking for you. Do
not a few things happen in this world ? For instance : I am
certainly not a very bad sort of fellow myself, but yet it
has happened to me to deceive husbands, who, by the
Lord, were in no way worse than me. And you yourself

... do you remember our Parisian friend. Count L ?

There is no dependence to be placed upon a woman's
fidelity; happy is he who can regard it with indifference.
But you ! . . . With your passionate, pensive and sus-
picious nature, with your fiat nose, thick lips, and shaggy
head, to rush into all the dangers of matrimony !...."

" I thank you for your friendly advice," interrupted
Ibrahim coldly; "but you know the proverb: 'It is not
your duty to rock other people's children.' "

" Take care, Ibrahim," replied Korsakoff, laughing, " that
you are not called upon some day to prove the truth of that
proverb in the literal sense of the word,"

462 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

Meanwhile the conversation in the next room became
very heated.

"You will kill her," the old lady was saying: "she;
cannot bear the sight of him."

" But judge for yourself," replied her obstinate brother.
" For a fortnight he has been coming here as her bride-
groom, and during that time he has not once seen his bride.
He may think at last that her illness is a mere invention,
and that we are only seeking to gain time in order to rid
ourselves of him in some way. And what will the Czar
say? He has already sent three times to ask after the
health of Natalia. Do as you like, but I have no intention
of quarrelling with him."

"My Lord God!" said Tatiana Afanassievna ; "what
will become of the poor child ! At least let me go and
prepare her for such a visit."

Gavril Afanassievitch consented, and then returned, to
the parlour.

" Thank God ! " said he to Ibrahim : " the danger is
over. Natalia is much better. Were it not that I do not
like to leave my dear guest Ivan Evgrafovitch here alone, I
would take you upstairs to have a glimpse of your bride."

Korsakoff congratulated Gavril Afanassievitch, asked
him not to be uneasy on his account, assured him that he
was compelled to go at once, and rushed out into the hall,
without allowing his host to accompany him.

Meanwhile Tatiana Afanassievna hastened to prepare the
invalid for the appearance of the terrible guest. Entering
the room, she sat down breathless by the side of the bed,
and took Natasha by the hand ; but before she was able to
utter a word, the door opened.

Natasha asked : " Who has come in ? "

The old lady turned faint. Gavril Afanassievitch drew
back the curtain, looked coldly at the sick girl, and asked

' ». PETER THE great's NEGRO. 463

^^e was. The invalid wanted to smile at him, but

15 i^ot. e Her father's stern look struck her, and un-

in^s took possession of her. At that moment it seemed

leic^that someone was standing at the head of her bed.

'i ff ised her head with an effort and suddenly recognized

C? r's negro. Then she remembered everything, and

he aorror of the future presented itself before her. But

lUsted nature received no perceptible shock. Natasha

lier head dov n again upon the pillow and closed her

^ . . . her hc;art beat painfully within her. Tatiana

aas55Mp3, made a sign to her brother that the invalid

t|^d^(P|Q to sleep, and all quitted the room very quietly,

jpt tinfcnaid, who resumed her seat at the spinning-

il.

unhappy beauty opened her eyes, and no longer
anyi)ody by her bedside, called the maid and sent
for the nurse. But at that moment a round, old
^; like a ball, rolled up to her bed. Lastotchka (for so
jji^e was called) with all the speed of her short legs
ffollowed Gavril Afanassievitch and Ibrahim up the
}, and concealed herself behind the door, in accordance
V the promptings of that curiosity which is inborn in the
sex. Natasha, seeing her, sent the maid away, and the
se^sat down upon a stool by the bedside.
Fever had so small a body contained within itself so
:h energy of soul. She intermeddled in everything,
w everything, and busied herself about everything. By
ning and insinuating ways she had succeeded in gaining
love of her masters, and the hatred of all the household,
eh she controlled in the most arbitrary manner. Gavril
.nassievkch listened to her reports, complaints, and
y requi|its. Tatiana Afanassievna constantly asked her
lion, a^ followed her advice, and Natasha had the
ij,f> t unbSPided affection for her, and confided to her all

4^4 POUSHKIN'S PROSE TALES.

the thoughts, all the emotions of her sixteen-;
heart. •

**Do you know, Lastotchka," said she, "my
going to marry me to the negro." i

The nurse sighed deeply, and her wrinkled face!
still more wrinkled. ij*

** Is there no hope ? " contin!i|a Natasha : " will rr
not take pity upon me ? " ^

The nurse shook her cap. \.

" Will not my grandfather or my a^n - -';^j- ^- — -

" No, miss ; during your illness the
bewitching everybody. The master is out ot
him, the Prince raves about him alone, ^v:
Afanassievna says it a pity that he is a negro, a.
bridegroom we could not wish for."

" My God, my God ! " moaned poor Natasha, f

" Do not grieve, my pretty one," said the nurse, kissing',!!^
feeble hand. " If you are to marry the negro, you will 4i J^
your own way in everything. Nowadays it is not as ^'

in -the olden times : husbands no longer keep tlieii
under lock and key ; they say the negro is rich ; your
will be like a full cup — you will lead a merry life."

" Poor Valerian ! " said Natasha, but so softly
the nurse could only guess what she said, as si
not hear the words.

"That is just it, miss," said she, mysteriously lo
her voice; "if you thought less of the archer's o
you would not rave about him in your illness, anc
father would not be angry."

" What ! " said the alarmed Natasha : " I l^ave
about Valerian ? And my father heard it ? An
is angry ? "

" That is just the misfortune," replied the nu^e
if you were to ask him not to marry you td^j^

ftave

It;

If

^'

PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO.

465

'd think that Valerian was the cause. There is
,0 be done ; submit to the will of your parents, for

to be, will be."

<ha did not reply. The thought that the secret

.^art was known to her father, produced a powerful

on her imagination. One hope alone remained

to die before the completion of the odious marriage.

ought consoled her. Weak and sad at heart she

: herself to her fate.

y"

466

I

CHAPTER VII.

N the house of Gavril Afanassievitch, to the right
vestibule, was a narrow room with one window,
stood a simple bed covered with a woollen counter-
front of the bed was a small deal table, on wj|ja «
candle was burning, and some sheets of musg l||f
On the wall hung an old blue uniform anditsco^fe "
a three-cornered hat ; above it, fastened by three nai
a rude picture representing Charles XII. on ^ors
The notes of a flute resounded through this hui^le J
tion. The captive dancing-master, its lonely occur" ^
night-cap and nankeen dressing-gown, was relievinL
ness of a winter's evening, by playing some old
marches. After devoting two whole hour^ to this K:^
the Swede took his flute to pieces, placed it in
and began to undress. . . , , .

4

Printed by MORRISON & GiBB Limited, Edinbtin-'i

J>

»<?'

y

14 DAY USE

RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED

LOAN DEPT.

This book is due on the last date stamped below, or

on the date to which renewed.

Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.

JUN 1 5 1937 2 3

eccivED

m

^^1 1 ^

OCT 18 ISiTST

li''67-- ' >PM

ffOVi3^^S7 8

RECEIVED

NOV 13 '67 -4 FM

LO— '^ nr--T.

Pi

LD 2lA-60m-2,'67
(H241slO)476B

General Library

University of California

Berkeley

la